How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  In fact, Jane had said as much, her eyebrows dancing suggestively all the while. Thank God Anne had sent Lord Haywood and the boys on to visit the vicar when she’d seen Jane approaching.

  “I could stay until Eleanor and your father return.”

  That was tempting, but the result would be disastrous. Lord Haywood had already introduced her to some shocking physical intimacies. She had no doubt that, given the chance, he’d lead her farther down that primrose path until she was ruined in truth.

  Her body hummed with anticipation—

  Which was precisely why she was sitting on this hard chair. And why she had to get the man out the door and on his way back to Town as quickly as possible.

  “No, you couldn’t. The sooner you return to London, the sooner you can quash any rumors that might be circulating about our stay at that horrible inn.”

  And the sooner the whispers that must be starting in the village would be silenced as well. Jane hadn’t been the only one to see them yesterday. The Boltwood sisters had almost executed a jig right there in front of the lending library.

  “And we don’t want to start any talk about your stay here. I don’t have a proper chaperone, you know.”

  Good Lord, she sounded like someone’s old maiden aunt.

  Which she might well be one day—a step aunt or a half aunt.

  Would it be so bad to marry Lord Haywood? Marriage would stop any scandal. I’d be able to move out of the Hall.

  And I love Nate.

  But he doesn’t love me.

  She drank the last of her tea and put the cup down on its saucer with a decided click. This had all happened too quickly. She didn’t really know if she loved Lord Haywood. She might simply be infatuated. And she did know he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to marry anyone.

  Not to mention that any warmer feelings he might have for her would be snuffed out at once if the duke married Cat.

  But if there is a wedding, I’ll have another chance at the Spinster House.

  Dear God. Instead of excitement at that thought, she felt...

  She wasn’t certain what she felt, but it was a heavy, droopy, weepy sensation, almost as if her courses were coming on.

  That’s it! Of course. It explained everything. Her courses were due. Her blue devils weren’t caused by the marquess at all.

  “I don’t mean to hurry you out the door, Lord Haywood, but if you’ve finished your coffee, perhaps you’d like to have your curricle brought round.”

  He scowled at her and stood, picking up his bag. “Very well. I should like to say good-bye to the boys before I leave.”

  “Of course. It sounds as if they are coming down the stairs now.” She’d quickly discovered that little boys did not move anywhere quietly.

  She and Nate stepped out of the drawing room to find James, the footman, with Stephen and Edward.

  “Hullo, Uncle Nate,” Stephen said, grinning. “James is taking us down to the stables to meet Mr. Riley, the head groom, and see the horses.”

  “And the barn cat,” Edward added. “James said he just had six kittens.”

  Lord Haywood laughed. “I think if the cat had kittens, Edward, it’s a she, not a he.”

  “I was stopping to ask yer permission first, milord, miss.” James looked somewhat anxiously from Lord Haywood to her. “Mrs. Bigley asked me to keep an eye on the boys, since I’ve got younger brothers. She said they didn’t yet have any lessons, and they were getting a bit, er, bored in the nursery.”

  “Into mischief were they?” Lord Haywood asked.

  “Aye, milord.”

  “All we could find were dolls and books for girls,” Edward said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

  “We found this ball,” Stephen added, holding it up for their inspection, “and played a bit of catch.”

  “But then we almost knocked one of the pictures off the wall.” Edward’s nose was still wrinkled. “A silly picture of a girl.”

  “So would it be all right if I took the boys out?” James asked.

  “Of course,” Anne said. “But before you go—” She did hope the boys wouldn’t be too upset. “Boys, Lord Haywood is just leaving for London, so you should say your goodbyes.”

  “Good-bye, Uncle Nate.” Edward gave him a quick hug and then started toward the door. James held him up while they waited for Stephen.

  Stephen appeared a little more affected by Lord Haywood’s departure. “You’ll be back, won’t you, Uncle Nate? To see Mama and Miss Anne?”

  “And you and Edward,” Lord Haywood said, ruffling Stephen’s hair.

  Stephen grinned. “That’s good then.”

  “Have Riley bring up Lord Haywood’s curricle, James,” Anne said as James and the boys departed.

  “Yes, miss. I will.”

  “It appears the boys are settling in,” Lord Haywood said, looking back at Anne and smiling.

  “Yes. I think Mrs. Bigley was wise to put James in charge of them. He’s the oldest of four boys and sensible. I feel fairly confident he won’t let them get into trouble.”

  He frowned. “And you’re certain your father will treat them well?”

  “Yes. Papa is good with children. Though I’ll suggest he consider a tutor for—” She bit her lip. “But then that’s none of my affair, is it?”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.” He opened the door, and she preceded him onto the portico. “I know it won’t be easy at first, Anne, but Eleanor isn’t a bad sort, and she does love her sons.”

  “I know she does.”

  The surprising thing was how attached Anne had grown to them. She’d never had any special interest in the nursery set. But they were good boys—charming and interesting and . . . lovable. She’d give Mrs. Eaton full credit for that. Certainly her disreputable, departed husband hadn’t had a hand in it.

  “And I believe she loves your father as well.”

  Anne sighed. “Yes, I think you may be right.” She found that very hard to believe, but she’d paid attention during the wedding and had seen how Mrs. Eaton had looked at Papa when she’d said her vows. And how Papa had looked at her.

  As much as she hadn’t expected it—as much as it still shocked her when she considered it—she was beginning to accept that this might be a love match. Perhaps a better match for Papa than the one he’d made with her mother. Mrs. Eaton struck her as someone perfectly content to spend all her time at home in the country.

  They heard the sound of Lord Haywood’s curricle approaching. The marquess turned to her and said in a quiet voice, “I won’t badger you since I know you don’t like it, Anne, but my offer of marriage still stands. Write me if you find that rumors of our ill-fated stay at the Three Legged Dog are bedeviling you. I will come at once.”

  Her heart twisted with . . . longing? Nonsense.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “People may talk for a while, but they’ll lose interest in the story soon enough.”

  His brow arched up skeptically, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes searched her face.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to close the small gap between them and kiss her. She held her breath, not certain whether she hoped he would or he wouldn’t.

  He didn’t. Riley arrived with the curricle just then and Lord Haywood straightened. He smiled once more—with a touch of sadness perhaps?—and said good-bye. Then he strode over to his curricle, took the reins from Riley, and set off down the drive and out of her life.

  He did not look back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  London

  Nate sat in the study of his London townhouse, reading a letter from Stephen. He had to keep checking the signature to assure himself that it was indeed Eleanor’s older son writing. He’d never known the boy to sound so excited, so happy and, so, well, childlike.

  Stephen could not say enough good things about his new papa. Davenport and Eleanor had arrived at the Hall a day or two after Nate left, and Davenport had lost no time in getting the boys’ lives arra
nged. There was indeed a tutor coming, but for the time being the boys would be in James’s care when they weren’t with Davenport himself. Stephen wrote that Papa was going to teach them to swim and to ride and had gotten them their own ponies. He’d already allowed Edward to adopt one of the new kittens, though it had to stay with its mama in the barn until it was older.

  Stephen did not mention how his mother and Anne were getting on. In fact, he didn’t mention them at all.

  Nate put the letter down. How was Anne? He’d thought of her often—constantly, really—since he’d left Davenport Hall over a week ago. She’d been its mistress for close to ten years; he’d seen how the servants had consulted her while he was there.

  Well, the few times the servants had appeared. They’d been all but invisible—which in itself was a testament to Anne’s good management.

  And the servants’ matchmaking efforts, he suspected. It had been a very good thing his curricle had arrived so quickly. He’d noticed the moment he’d entered his bedchamber that there was a door connecting his room to Anne’s. Fortunately, he’d been too exhausted the one night he’d spent there to use it, but if he’d stayed any longer . . .

  He looked back down at his letter. It could not have been easy for Anne to hand the household’s reins over to Eleanor, yet she must have done so. If there was any tension in the house, he’d hear the shadow of it in Stephen’s letter.

  He frowned. But what about tension elsewhere? Stephen hadn’t mentioned any problems, but would the boy know if the villagers were gossiping about Anne?

  Well, Davenport would know and he wouldn’t hesitate to write to Nate. So Anne must have been right. The villagers hadn’t believed the tale.

  Most of the ton hadn’t believed it either, unable to imagine the Marquess of Haywood behaving so scandalously—or scandalously at all. Living a boring, staid life had its advantages. And if anyone was bold enough to mention the gossip to him, a lifted eyebrow and a long look were enough to silence the idiot.

  Frankly, the gabble grinders were far more interested in Eleanor, the new Lady Davenport.

  But more than all that, it had been tremendous good luck that the day before Nate returned to London, the Countess of Dayton had got into a shouting match with her husband at Almack’s, thrown a tray of stale cakes and a cup of punch at him, and run off to the Continent with the much younger and reputedly penniless Mr. Drumm. That story was far, far more delicious than any other gossip this Season and had the added advantage of having been witnessed by half the ton, though everyone had a slightly different account of it, of course.

  He pushed his chair away from his desk and walked over to the window to look out over the back garden. He should be relieved. It looked as if Anne’s reputation was intact. Honor did not demand he offer for her.

  He scowled out at the vegetation. So why don’t I feel relieved?

  The answer was all too obvious.

  Because I wanted to be forced into marrying Anne.

  Lord! He hated to admit it, but it was true. His duty to rescue Miss Davenport’s reputation would have trumped his promise to his mother to delay marriage so he could focus on Marcus’s safety. He could have had what he wanted without guilt.

  He leaned against the window frame. It would be easier to put the thought of Anne aside if Marcus appreciated his concern at all. He didn’t. Hell, Marcus didn’t even appreciate his company.

  He narrowed his eyes. Marcus’s foul mood had started when they’d left Loves Bridge after the wedding. One would think it must have something to do with Miss Hutting—Alex certainly thought so—and when he’d asked Marcus about it, Marcus had glowered at him and said nothing.

  He pushed away from the window and strode back over to stand in front of his desk. But how could Miss Hutting be involved? She’d already declined Marcus’s offer and was now living exactly as she wished in the Spinster House.

  In Loves Bridge. While Marcus was in London.

  Or at least I think he’s in London.

  He hadn’t seen Marcus since the Easthaven ball last night. He’d stepped away to have a word with Viscount Motton, and when he’d returned, Marcus was gone. At first he’d been afraid his cousin was in the bushes with some female again—even though he’d just got free of Ambleton’s daughter—but Alex confirmed Marcus had left early to go home to Hart House.

  And then Marcus hadn’t been at White’s this morning. He should have been. He’d given up waiting for the post.

  Blast it, I should have checked on him.

  But Alex had said no, that Nate was suffocating Marcus with his constant surveillance.

  Bloody hell! I can’t have Anne, and now I’ve lost Marcus.

  Anger, despair, and a deep feeling of loneliness swirled in his gut. He picked up the round, smooth stone he kept on his desk for times when he felt this, well, impotence. Running his fingers over it was calming. He’d had it for . . .

  Ah, that’s right. He’d found it in the Spinster House garden twenty years ago when he and Marcus had been boys and Marcus had chosen his first Spinster House spinster. Then it had fit his palm perfectly. Now it was much smaller—well, no, his palm was much bigger—but he still found it oddly comforting.

  “Milord.”

  He jumped slightly. Good God, he’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t heard his butler open the door. “What is it, Wilson?”

  “Lord Evans and the Duke of Hart are here to see you.”

  Thank God! He smiled with relief as Marcus and Alex entered and Wilson left, closing the door behind him.

  “Where were you this morning, Marcus?” Blast, that had come out wrong. “Not that it’s any of my concern, of course.” And now I sound hurt. “Will you sit?” He gestured to the chairs by the fireplace.

  Neither man moved.

  Hell.

  This was bad.

  He pressed his lips together and waited for one of them to continue the conversation. Instead, they exchanged a very speaking look.

  Anger and worry and something that felt very much like panic churned through him as the silence lengthened.

  “I’ve been in Loves Bridge,” Marcus finally said.

  Nate’s stomach clenched into a tight, hard knot. Oh, God! He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak calmly. “Is there some problem with the Spinster House?”

  Marcus looked down at his hands. “In a manner of speaking.”

  More silence.

  “Just tell him, Marcus,” Alex said. “You’re not helping matters by dragging this out.”

  Panic leapt from his stomach to his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His head pounded—

  Marcus took a deep breath and nodded. “Right.” He raised his eyes to look directly at Nate. There was determination in his expression, but also an odd mix of sadness and elation.

  And something that looked suspiciously like pity.

  “You can wish me happy, Nate. I’m marrying Miss Hutting.”

  “What?!” Nate’s knees threatened to give out and he leaned against his desk. “No! She turned you down.”

  “I asked again. This time, she accepted.”

  This can’t be happening. “But what about the curse?”

  Marcus ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not certain anymore that there is a curse.”

  Oh, Lord, here was wishful thinking indeed.

  “Catherine and I found some papers in the house that call it into question.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Marcus was wagering his life because of something he’d found in a mess of old, forgotten papers?

  “What about all those dukes who died before their heir was born, Marcus? For two hundred years? How do you explain that?”

  “I can’t.” Marcus shrugged—and then he smiled! “I guess we’ll finally discover if marrying for love will break the curse.”

  Nate took a deep breath and tried to corral his thoughts, but panic was driving them in all directions. Marcus hadn’t been there when Mum died. He hadn’t seen her�
��heard her. He didn’t understand.

  “Love didn’t save our grandfather.”

  “Nate, your mother was only five when her father died. How could she know the difference between lust and love?”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the curse talking.” Nate wanted to close the distance between them and shake some sense into Marcus. Instead he held his worry stone so tightly, it would likely leave its imprint on his hand. “How can you love her, Marcus? You’ve only just met her!”

  And you’ve just met Anne. Look what you feel for her—

  No. It wasn’t love he felt. It was lust. It must be. “The curse is twisting your reasoning.”

  Nate looked at Alex for support, but Alex just shook his head. He wasn’t going to help save Marcus.

  Of course he wasn’t. Alex didn’t believe Marcus was in danger. He didn’t believe in the curse. He didn’t see this was literally a question of life or death.

  Nate tried again. “Think, Marcus. You’ve only known Miss Hutting for what? A month? You can’t know if you love her or not. Give it time.”

  That’s all that was needed. With time, Marcus would come to his senses—or Nate would find a way to cure him of his infatuation. Or perhaps having a word or two with Miss Hutting would do the trick. He might even ask Anne to persuade—

  No, he could not ask Anne to do anything. She would celebrate Miss Hutting’s nuptials. She wanted the Spinster House for herself.

  “It’s too late for that, Nate.” Marcus flushed slightly and then grinned. “Catherine is already carrying my child.”

  Zeus! Blood roared in Nate’s ears and this time his knees did give out. He sat down abruptly on his desk, sending a pile of papers cascading onto the floor.

  If the woman is carrying a boy, Marcus’s days are already numbered.

  But only if he marries her.

  “You don’t have to wed. You have money and property. You can set Miss Hutting up in comfortable style. She—”

  “Stop!” Marcus glared at him as if Nate were a complete stranger, and a despicable one at that.

  Well, yes, what he’d suggested wasn’t honorable, but then desperate times called for desperate measures.