A Kiss for the Marquess (Wedding Trouble, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  Hugh decided not to confide in Jasper about his encounter with Miss Braunschweig. “Indeed. Perhaps you will decide to marry one of them. I have to say, I’m glad you’re showing some interest in this process after all. Marriage is a maligned state–”

  “Rightfully so,” Jasper said, with a horrified look. “Marriage is the end of all fun, the end of all hope.”

  “Hope?”

  “Even when Pandora opened that dreadful box of hers and the world was filled with sorrow, hope remained. But with marriage...” Jasper shuddered.

  “Some people are happily married.”

  “Apparently some people also performed miracles, but I’m dubious.”

  Hugh shrugged. Jasper didn’t need to understand. No one did.

  All Hugh needed to do was find a wife and he was going to make certain she was excellent in every manner.

  EMMA APPROACHED THE grand staircase. Once she crossed it, she would be in her own wing, and any servant who spotted her would think her presence unremarkable. Voices sounded downstairs, so she quickened her pace. She’d rather her first meeting with other guests not be of her tiptoeing about forbidden corridors. Hopefully, the new arrivals would distract the servants.

  She glanced at the walls. At least the man had the good sense to confine his collection of vertebrae to the great outdoors.

  Finally, Emma came to her room and opened the door. Snoring sounded from the next room. Even the thick walls of the castle couldn’t mask Mrs. Carberry’s naptime noises.

  Miss Carberry jerked her head toward Emma and rose from her perch on the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I startled you.”

  Miss Carberry gave her a wobbly smile. “Please do not worry. You must think it terribly strange to be here.”

  “Me?” Emma squeaked.

  “I mean, being paid to help someone win a marquess is an unusual method to make pin money.”

  “Personally, I think it’s a delightfully fun way,” Emma said, almost convincing herself. “And I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  “I’m certain none of the other women brought people to infiltrate this event. Their parents have more confidence in them.” Miss Carberry glanced in the mirror. “Naturally.”

  Emma didn’t say Miss Carberry would struggle to land the marquess on her own, even if Miss Carberry was shy and reserved, a quality nannies extolled while wrangling their charges, but which proved less desirable while on the marriage mart.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Emma said. “My brother convinced your parents to hire me.”

  Miss Carberry blinked.

  “In other words, it wasn’t your parents’ idea,” Emma continued quickly, hoping she hadn’t revealed too much. Still, if Miss Carberry was to win the marquess, the first thing she needed to be was confident.

  “My parents never spend money on frivolities,” Miss Carberry said.

  “My brother is very persuasive,” Emma said. “Besides, your family is not exactly poor.”

  Miss Carberry bowed her head. She seemed quieter than most other women and she reminded Emma of her friend, the Duchess of Vernon. Miss Carberry had the same shy uncertainty, and Emma was suddenly glad she had obtained the information on the marquess, even if she’d been discovered in his room by a particularly frustrating valet.

  “I discovered some valuable information about the marquess,” Emma said.

  “Oh?” Miss Carberry turned to look at her.

  Emma nodded rapidly. “He is an avid scientist.”

  Miss Carberry raised her eyebrows, and her face brightened. “Truly?”

  “Yes.”

  “That would explain his methodology,” Miss Carberry mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gathering all these women like this to see which one behaves best? It’s the sort of thing that might be found in a laboratory,” Miss Carberry said. “Though usually a scientist would use mice rather than women.”

  “And half of them would be poisoned,” Emma finished.

  Miss Carberry gave her a horrified glance, and Emma sat in an armchair in a small seating area in the room.

  “I always thought a scientist might make a good husband,” Miss Carberry mused. “Thinking is a virtue.”

  “Well, this man spends all his time thinking about insects,” Emma said. “Earthworms, to be precise.”

  Miss Carberry grimaced. “I’m not certain those qualify as insects. They do not have the requisite number of legs. Unfortunately, my governess did not cover them.”

  “I imagine we could find some books on earthworms,” Emma said. “If you possessed knowledge on them, you might impress the marquess.”

  “But that’s manipulation.”

  “Is it? I think it’s polite to learn about your host’s interests. Unless,” Emma added casually, “you think it would be too difficult to learn those details.”

  Miss Carberry drew herself up and her eyes flashed with the outrage of a woman for whom learning was the thing she loved most, the thing she was most accomplished at. “Nonsense. I’m quite capable of learning.”

  “Splendid,” Emma said sweetly. “I’ll fetch you a book.”

  “Where will you find one?”

  Emma hesitated. She had no desire to venture into the marquess’s private suite again. Moreover, she hadn’t noticed a book on the subject there. “The library will have something, I’m certain. I’ll have the housekeeper help me.”

  She departed the room and strolled toward the library. This time, she moved less surreptitiously, and didn’t scan the hallway for overly large Chinese vases lest she need to find a sudden hiding spot. Before long she’d found the library, marked by imposing double doors and paintings of books. She selected a book for Miss Carberry, and when she left, she strode quickly, confident she was doing her best to fulfill her duties.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BY THE TIME MRS. CARBERRY’S lady’s maid had dressed and coiffured Mrs. Carberry and her daughter, there was scarcely any time for her to assist Emma in getting dressed. Emma slipped off her traveling dress easily, twisting her torso and arms with practiced accuracy. She studied her evening gown, wishing it didn’t possess so many buttons. The lady’s maid turned to assist Emma.

  Mrs. Carberry occupied herself with pacing the room. “Do hurry. It won’t do to be late. She hardly needs anything at all. She’s already so...beautiful. Most unexpectedly.”

  Emma flushed and wondered just how her brother had described her.

  Ellen brushed her hair a few strokes and then twisted her hair into a bun. “There. You do look pretty, miss.”

  Mrs. Carberry peered at Emma. “Perhaps I was wrong to say she should have a plain style. Simplicity leads too easily to elegance in the already beautiful.”

  “I-I can curl her hair if you’d like, Mrs. Carberry,” Ellen stammered.

  Mrs. Carberry pressed her lips together, as if calculating.

  “There’s no time,” Miss Carberry said hastily.

  “At least the marquess will not be here tonight,” Mrs. Carberry said.

  Ellen shifted her feet, and a strange expression came over her face. “About that...”

  “Ah? You’re joining our conversation, Ellen?” Mrs. Carberry asked brusquely.

  The maid’s cheeks ruddied, despite the prevalence of freckles that prevented such easy transformations.

  “What is it?” Emma asked.

  “I had tea with the other maids,” Ellen said finally, though each word came out uncertainly, as if she were unaccustomed to the act of speaking.

  “Yes, we are aware of the strange dining hours the staff keeps,” Mrs. Carberry said impatiently.

  Ellen opened her mouth again, but then paused. Finally, she sighed. “Forgive me, Mrs. Carberry. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

  Mrs. Carberry flashed a smug smile. “No need to worry, Ellen. Not everyone is gifted in decorum. I do not expect mere servants to imitate my propriety.”

  Ellen bowed her head a
nd quickly continued preparing Emma.

  “Well, I needn’t witness this,” Mrs. Carberry said. “Please join me in my room when you are ready, and we will descend the stairs together.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Carberry,” the maid said.

  Mrs. Carberry shot her an irritated look, as if still surprised at her powers of speech.

  “I believe there was something you desired to tell Mrs. Carberry,” Emma said cautiously.

  “Was there?” Ellen’s voice wobbled. “I’d forgotten.”

  Emma was silent.

  Mrs. Carberry had been sufficiently aggressive in her handling of the maid, and Emma didn’t desire to mimic her.

  Mrs. Carberry huffed and sauntered back toward her room. “We shall leave in two minutes, whether you’re prepared or not.” She gave a steely look at Emma. “Preferably not ready.”

  “I’ll join you,” Miss Carberry said, following her mother.

  “Well,” Mrs. Carberry said. “At least you’re obedient.”

  The door slammed behind them, and Ellen flinched.

  “Tell me now,” Emma whispered.

  Ellen swallowed hard and then leaned nearer. “I don’t know for certain, and I could be wrong, but some of the servants said the marquess is here.”

  Emma’s eyebrows catapulted up.

  “It could be simple gossip,” Ellen said hastily. “Or maybe, some of the servants desired us to work harder to assist them.”

  Emma nodded. That was a possibility, though Ellen did not seem the type to have made enemies early who would desire to give her false information.

  Hmph.

  If only the valet had told her that the marquess was here. That would have been helpful information. The man had seemed entirely too smug.

  Still. At least she knew now.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

  Emma rose, and Ellen smoothed her dress.

  “You do look beautiful. Have a good time.”

  “Thank you.” Emma’s arms fluttered, conscious of the importance of tonight’s event, and then she opened the door to the adjoining room.

  “Finally,” Mrs. Carberry huffed, even though less than two minutes had passed. “Let us meet the competition.”

  Mrs. Carberry grimaced slightly, and Emma realized she was every bit as nervous as Miss Carberry and Emma. Her daughter might be an heiress and she might possess wealth most men only dreamed about, but she was not titled, and she did not know much of society. There’d been a reason Bertrand had chosen Mrs. Carberry and her husband to prey upon.

  Emma ignored the slight queasiness in her mouth. Well. The least she could do would be to ensure she delivered the services her brother had so unreasonably promised.

  They strode down the hallway. The feathers of Mrs. Carberry’s turban brushed against some of the lower beams, but when they stepped onto the staircase and approached the lower floor, the ceilings were once again high and magnificent.

  Mrs. Carberry widened her eyes. “You must do a good job, Margaret. All of this could be yours. You could have a castle, a true castle, and be attached to a family of noblemen who have been in power for centuries.”

  Voices sounded behind them before Miss Carberry could respond, and Emma turned her head. Three women in crisp ivory gowns embellished with various colored ribbons and differing puffed sleeve volumes glided behind them.

  “The competition,” Mrs. Carberry murmured, and her face had taken on a pale shade not attributable to her gown’s unflattering fawn color.

  The three women had been pretty when Emma had spotted them soon after their arrival, but now they glistened. Behind them strolled another woman who must be their mother, though she looked scarcely older. People who pontificated on the virtues of breeding might be referring to them.

  Mrs. Carberry forced a broad smile on her face. “You must be here to win the marquess.”

  Some of the women smirked.

  Mrs. Carberry’s normally stern expression wavered. “I am Mrs. John Carberry. And you are?”

  One of the women raised her eyebrows. “I am Eugenia Dunham the Viscountess of Staplefield, and these are my three daughters, Priscilla, Petunia and Gardenia.”

  “You couldn’t have thought of another name beginning with ‘p’?” Mrs. Carberry asked.

  “Excuse me?” The viscountess contemplated Mrs. Carberry’s words and then frowned. “They are family names. Perhaps you do not understand.”

  Her daughters giggled, and Mrs. Carberry flushed.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Viscountess.” Mrs. Carberry pointed at her daughter. “This is my daughter, Margaret, and–er–her friend, Miss Braunschweig. Her brother is Lord Braunschweig.”

  Mrs. Carberry stressed the “lord” part with an appreciation and emphasis not hitherto displayed.

  “Shall we descend to the reception room?” the viscountess asked. “We can proceed with introductions there. We need not be entirely unconventional, even if you are Scottish.”

  Mrs. Carberry flushed.

  Heavens, these women were dreadful.

  Mrs. Carberry nodded meekly, and they continued down the stairs. The wooden floor beams creaked beneath them, as if surprised at the presence of so many people.

  “This house requires a mistress with modern taste,” Miss Petunia Dunham announced.

  “And you will be that woman?” her sister inquired.

  “Perhaps.” Miss Petunia Dunham spoke calmly, but her eyes gleamed, as if she were already envisioning the changes she would make.

  “Is it quite common for the ton to invite solely women to house parties?” Emma asked, changing the subject, lest Miss Petunia Dunham begin to pontificate on the good taste of current artists and architects and the general poor taste of everyone prior.

  “It’s entirely uncommon. Ever since the war ended, the men seem to find it much less urgent to obtain heirs. We were lucky we received invitations.”

  “She’s the luckiest.” Miss Gardenia Dunham pointed to a woman with flaxen hair and clothed in a matching pale-yellow evening gown. “Her father is a duke too.”

  Emma assessed her.

  “My father is the Duke of Ashburton,” the woman said loftily, joining them. “I heard you discussing me. It is a frequent occurrence. No doubt you are acquainted with my father’s name. I am Lady Letitia.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Emma said.

  “Her brother’s a baron.” Mrs. Carberry gestured to Emma. “She came with us.”

  “Said with the enthusiasm of one who can only be untitled,” Lady Letitia said.

  Mrs. Carberry’s smile wobbled.

  “It is most eccentric for the marquess not to be here tonight,” the viscountess mused, and the others murmured assent.

  Emma remembered the maid’s warning. This was not a normal house party. Marriage might occur after men and women of similar interests and backgrounds were isolated together, but it was quite another thing to declare the purpose of the party was to find a bride.

  If the marquess were truly here, as the lady’s maid had suggested, was it possible he intended to observe them in relative privacy? Perhaps he would even rate them? Was he here now?

  This was a castle, and it took only a single eccentric ancestor with a penchant for tunnels to give this place some secret hiding spaces. She scrutinized the wall and shivered.

  She needed to speak with Miss Carberry.

  Now.

  If the marquess might be observing them, this would be the very best time to make a good impression on him. The other mothers were snooty, showing an adherence to propriety he might find admirable, if less pleasing in a potential mother-in-law or bride, particularly when their grumbles were directed toward him.

  She slowed her steps, falling behind some of the others, and Miss Carberry gave her a quizzical look.

  Good.

  Emma gestured for Miss Carberry to join her, but Miss Carberry hesitated.

  The other women though had begun a conversation on the merits of the d
ecor, some musing on the benefits of modernizing it and the various methods with which they might do that.

  Miss Carberry adopted a languorous pace, even as her mother barreled on, leading the other women, perhaps more in an effort to not have to enter into conversation with them again than at an eagerness at dining.

  A woman with gray ringlets was in the reception room.

  “That must be the Dowager Marchioness,” Miss Carberry whispered. “Our hostess.”

  “Oh.” Emma widened her eyes.

  The dowager seemed to have taken a casual view of her hosting duties. Though she wore an evening gown, she hadn’t bothered to adorn herself with jewelry, and she flung amused glances at everyone. She lacked the anxious energy common in matchmaking mamas.

  “I believe the marquess is here,” Emma said in a low voice. She didn’t check whether Miss Carberry widened her eyes or whether her eyebrows were soaring up: she assumed they were. This was news Miss Carberry would not have expected.

  “I see,” Miss Carberry said after a pause. “You think he is resting from his journey–?”

  “What journey?” Emma asked.

  Miss Carberry remained silent. No doubt she was thinking that no one had mentioned the marquess had recently traveled, and there would be no reason for him not to attend the event he’d invited them to.

  “You believe this was all a jest?” Miss Carberry’s normally calm tone vanished as she adopted a faster tempo. “That he simply wanted to see which women might desire to marry him, so that he might laugh–”

  “Nonsense,” Emma said curtly. “Everyone is here because they are qualified. Everyone here meets his expectations, and if there is one of us whom he already prefers, he would have courted her alone.”

  Miss Carberry’s shoulders did not exactly lower, but she didn’t protest anymore. “You think he’s observing us through a secret room.”

  Emma jerked her head toward her. “Yes. How–?”

  “These castle walls are thick,” Miss Carberry said, and Emma smiled. “No need to worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  CHAPTER NINE