by Fanny Finch
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Fanny Finch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright
Enchanted by the Mysterious Marquess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
The Extended Epilogue
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Fanny Finch
Enchanted by the Mysterious Marquess
Chapter 1
Miss Lavinia Bronson, the only daughter of Sir Edward and Lady Margaret Bronson, stepped up next to her mother, her head down. No one could see her face, as it was covered by a black veil trimmed with gold lining. It fell down around her shoulders, which were slumped in despair.
She had done all the crying she would do for the day. It was taking all she had to walk in line with the rest of the funeral procession. Her father was in the coffin. His loss was a deep wound that would hurt Lavinia for the rest of her life.
Sir Edward had great influence over Lavinia throughout her formative years. He was always a friendly man, good at business dealings, and a devoted father to his “princess”. He and Lavinia’s ancestors had been the stewards of Oakmere Abbey, which was a part of their estate and a place that had grown deep in Lavinia’s heart as home.
Lavinia brushed back her long blonde hair when a few soft strands came forward to swirl around her slender face. She didn’t mean to be irritated. Her hair was naturally wavy and her mother insisted she keep it long.
Her hazel eyes were focused on the ground. The last thing she needed was to trip while walking in her father’s funeral procession. She could only imagine the horror and shame it would bring to her mother and her father’s memory.
Her mother glanced at her, getting her attention. She looked up with only her eyes and raised her eyebrows.
“Are you all right?” Her mother’s question was low and under her breath. Lavinia nodded, though she did not feel all right. She wanted to attend the graveside service but was not allowed to do so.
“You look like you are about to faint,” her mother continued.
“I’m all right, Mother,” Lavinia nodded, her head down. She understood why her mother encouraged her to look her best. It was important that she not be embarrassed in public. The tragedy of losing her father caused Lavinia such pain and it was difficult for her not to let it show.
She could not imagine anything more unfair than not being able to attend the graveside service. The love she felt for her father overwhelmed her. She would miss him for the rest of her days. The ache made her chest feel tight. It made it difficult to breathe.
She did not want to put any more pressure on her mother than she was already experiencing. If she felt the whole thing was unfair, she could only imagine what her mother felt. But it irked her that she would not be able to say that one last goodbye to her father. To see him lowered in the ground would be the closure she needed.
But it was not to be. She must be satisfied with what she was given and be quiet about it. It was the only respectful thing to do.
“You must be sure to clear your face before you show it to others,” her mother whispered from the corner of her mouth. “You must handle your emotions with strength, Lavinia. We will get through this together.”
Lavinia felt resentment slide through her. She was handling her grief the best she could. All she wanted to do all morning long was reflect on her father’s life, think about how much she cared about him, and cry her eyes out.
But her mother had not allowed that. She wanted her daughter to be strong. Lavinia was impressed by the strength her mother was showing. She could not imagine if it had been her husband that passed away, too soon, too young. It would surely have broken her heart. Her mother was showing more restraint than she thought she ever could.
“Your eyes will be swollen and red, my dear,” her mother said at breakfast that morning in a gentle, encouraging voice. “You will give yourself a headache. Try to control it.”
“I am not as strong as you, mother,” Lavinia had replied, staring down at her plate of food.
Her mother reached over and patted Lavinia’s hand. “We will be all right, Lavinia. You will see.”.
Lavinia nodded. She was not used to feeling so helpless. What would she do without the advice of her father?
Typically, Lavinia was an outgoing 23-year-old woman who spoke her mind. Her father had encouraged her to be independent to a degree but to respect society’s standards.
She was taught to be a lady, but Lavinia would always do as her father wished simply because she respected him and loved him. She did not care for the ton and their conformities.
Now, however, without him, she would have to consider marriage. A young woman without the protection of a man and his name was not something the world looked kindly upon.
It was less important to her to find a husband than it was to have a happy, successful life. A life filled with joy and peace. In order to combine those two, she had to take her time finding the right man to marry. It couldn’t be just for the convenience of it. She needed to make sure she would live a fulfilled happy life once she was married.
Now, having to abide by society’s rules when her father was no longer in her life, Lavinia felt a rebellious streak ebbing through her veins. She would try very hard to do what needed to be done. Even if her every instinct told her not to. However, she was neither prepared nor willing to forsake her desire to live a happy life.
Lavinia knew she was bound to her mother’s wishes. Lady Bronson would immediately begin searching for a husband for her daughter. She only wanted what was best for her, but it still frustrated Lavinia.
She would not be given a lot of rein when it came to deciding who that man would be. It gave her a sense of urgency she did not want to have or even think about while walking in line with her mother and her father’s friends and other relatives.
Lady Bronson had always wanted a boy. It had been a sore point throughout Lavinia’s life because her mother had not been able to have any more children after having her. Lady Bronson never mentioned it to Lavinia herself, but she was fully aware of how her mother felt.
In contrast to his wife’s strictness, Sir Edward treated his daughter like she was the most precious, important, valuable porce
lain doll ever created. She was the light of his life, the apple of his eye. He had not hesitated to show his love for his daughter all through her life.
Thinking about how much her father loved her made Lavinia’s heart ache in her chest. She lifted one hand and pressed it against the brooch she wore over her heart, causing a sharp corner to pierce into her skin.
She let out a small cry and jerked her hand away. She felt the soft whisper of a trickle of blood from the tiny wound. It brought on a wave of tears she could not hold in. She immediately whipped the soft handkerchief from her reticule and held it up in front of her face.
The dark veil was covering it but she couldn’t use the veil to muffle the sound of her crying or wipe the tears from her eyes. Lavinia could not help but cry. If this resulted to her eyes being swollen and red, so be it. She never wanted to disobey her mother but she could not keep her tears contained any longer.
She allowed herself at least two minutes of crying, counting off the seconds in her mind. She had read in a book about grieving that if you held in your tears too long, they would explode all at once. She feared what she might say or do if that ever happened.
She swallowed any tears that were left after those minutes of sobbing uncontrollably. Lady Bronson noticed and lifted one hand to slide around her daughter’s elbow. It made Lavinia more tearful, but it also offered her some minimal comfort.
She wanted to mourn her father. She wanted to cry for the sweet man who had raised her with so much love. How could her mother be so strong? How could she not show how painful it was to bury the man she had loved for so many years?
Lavinia was sure Lady Bronson was doing her crying in private. It was remarkable that she could do so and emerge without the telltale signs of mourning. If she had to wager a bet that her mother would not be able to hide her pain for the entire mourning period, she would make that bet.
As a light breeze blew and blissfully cooled her wet face, Lavinia wondered what the future might hold for both her mother and herself. In her early forties, Lady Bronson was still a comely woman. She would effortlessly be able to garner the attention of a handsome older bachelor should she wish to, perhaps even someone with wealth and a position in society. Lavinia felt ashamed for making such a thought, but she ought to acknowledge it as a possibility.
And what about herself? How would her future be shaped now that her father’s wisdom and love was no longer there to guide her?
Surely they would remain on their estate till such time as she married or her mother did. Lavinia would relocate to the home of her husband when that happened.
Lavinia did not want to leave her home. It was almost to the point where she dreaded getting married because it meant leaving the estate. Any man who courted her would likely already have his own house. Her mother would not accept less.
A dry leaf meandered past her in the breeze, and Lavinia felt equally adrift and hopeless.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed behind her. Lavinia straightened her back, instantly alert. Someone was approaching quickly.
She glanced up when the man with the heavy boot steps passed her, scanning the side of his face. Her first thought was that he was very handsome. Her heart gave a small jump when she took in his strong countenance. He was a good foot taller than her, and had wavy dark hair that fell down almost to his shoulders.
His expression was solemn as he approached the open carriage and the coffin, in which her father lay peacefully. His lips moved in a soundless prayer, and he bowed his head in respect.
When he glanced back at her, he caught her looking at him. Her eyes snapped away from him, and Lavinia studied the ground in front of her. Inexplicably, the sight of his stormy blue eyes emblazoned itself in her mind. They reminded her of two tiny pools of ink, potent and mysterious.
She had seen intelligence in them during that brief gaze. It made her feel a bit faint and not because of her grief this time. She wondered who he was.
Lavinia turned to her mother and whispered, “Mother, do you know who that man is?”
Lady Bronson scowled at the newcomer, giving her daughter a questioning look. Lavinia got the distinct impression she did know who the man was and perhaps did not care for him. Lavinia wondered why.
“I do not know who he is but he should not be here. He is a stranger and strangers are not allowed to follow the dead so closely in the line. He is in front of us. We must get his attention.”
Lavinia’s eyebrows shot up. “Mother! What do you want me to do? Chastise him? I do not know who he is.” She gave the man a quick glance, apprehension sliding through her. Who was this stranger? Why had he interrupted their private time?
“This is for our family and friends. No one else was invited.”
Her mother deliberately did not keep her voice low. Lavinia imagined the strange intruder had no difficulty hearing her words perfectly clear.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the tall man spun around and stared at them both. She felt a streak of anxiety go through her when he stopped walking and waited for the women to catch up, which was only a few steps.
“Miss Bronson? Miss Lavinia Bronson?”
Lavinia nodded, uneasy. “Yes, this is she.”
“I must speak with you, miss. It is an urgent matter of utmost importance.”
The stranger glanced pointedly at her mother and then back to her. It piqued Lavinia’s curiosity.
“Go on, Mother. I will allow this gentleman a moment to speak with me and will catch up with you promptly.”
She did not think she had ever seen her mother scowl as fiercely as she did at that moment.
“Do not forget yourself,” was all the woman had to say. She continued walking, her head lowered as if she was praying.
Lavinia looked up at the tall man, admiring the blaze of his inky blue eyes. “What is this urgent matter you wished to speak to me about, sir?”
The stranger took a step back and bowed at the waist. “I apologize for intruding, Miss Bronson. It is a heavy duty I have at this dark hour to deliver a most critical warning.”
Lavinia frowned. “A warning? Now? Of what kind?”
“About your prospective suitors. I am afraid you must-“
“Sir,” Lavinia protested, lifting a hand to stop the rest of his words. “This is a most inappropriate time for such a discussion. How dare you broach such subject when we are saying our last goodbye to my beloved father?”
The man glanced from side to side, as if he wanted no one else to hear what he was saying. “Miss Bronson, you do not understand.” He glared at her, managing to look both embarrassed and angry. “I am Myles Arlington. I was a-“
“This has already been a most awful day for my family and myself, sir,” Lavinia interrupted him sternly. “A mysterious warning such as this is not appreciated at this doleful time. Therefore, I implore you, if there is any compassion in you, please respect our moment of grief and depart here at once.”
Lavinia grabbed her skirts in her hands, lifted them up just enough so they would not tangle, and spun around. With her back rigid and firm, she stomped back toward where her mother was standing.
How dare this stranger interrupt such a sacred moment for our family? she thought angrily.
Who was this Myles Arlington?
Chapter 2
Myles Arlington, the Marquess of Kent sat back in his office chair. His fingers were steepled in front of his lips, tapping against them fervently. His mood was somber, as usual, but this time, he had a lot on his mind and had yet to come up with a solution to his problem. Or problems. Depending on which way he looked at it.
It had been three months since the funeral and the rumors were still circulating. It annoyed the Marquess of Kent. He would have thought something new and scandalous would have taken the place of his little incident long ago.
But no, people were still chatting away about it, talking about him and about Miss Lavinia Bronson. Pairing them together as though they were courting but being fully awa
re that they were, in fact, not.
He had heard the rumors floating around the ton. Everyone had heard about his encounter with Miss Bronson. He had not meant to cause such a stir. He had simply wanted to complete his mission as quickly and successfully as possible. How could he have predicted that she would have reacted so adamantly? The woman had refused to even listen to him.
People at the funeral had witnessed their intense interaction, albeit ignoring its reason. It was not really the fault of the ton that the consequent rumors were spreading. The Marquess of Kent had not participated in social events for some time. He had kept to himself more often than not, especially since inheriting the title from his father, four years in his grave. To them, he was a mystery. An exciting riddle they amused themselves by trying to solve.
Myles frowned. Idle fools, he thought. He would not have gone to the funeral and attempted to warn Miss Bronson if he did not have good reason. What kind of man would intrude upon a family’s grief otherwise? It was not as though he cared about her. He did not want to court her himself. He was not interested in marriage or anything that might hold him back from being the most successful man of business in his family’s history.