His Convenient Marchioness

by Elizabeth Rolls

  Who regulated Time?

  Slowly Hunt opened the drawer, lifted the picture out and set it back where it had always stood. There was no point in wishing that Time and its Regulator had done this or that. All you could do was make your choices according to what you had been given. If your choice was to stand still and refuse the gift, bitter though it might seem at first, then you would wither, just as the clock would seize up. To wish the past undone was to wish Emma, Harry and Georgie away. He couldn’t bring himself to wish that. Not for the first time he wished one of his parents was still alive to give advice. And smiled at the thought. He’d been thirty before he’d realised how good his parents’ advice had been.

  He stared at his father’s portrait above the fireplace. The old man, a hand resting lightly on his setter’s head, gazed out across the library. Tradition decreed that the last portrait of the previous Marquess always hung there. One day his own portrait would be there. Would his and Emma’s son gaze up at it hoping for guidance?

  ‘Play the hand you’re dealt...’

  He could almost hear the crusty old man’s voice. He had played that last hand with Gerald so badly. But Fate had dealt him a new hand with Emma, Harry and Georgie. He just had to work out how best to play it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emma wondered if her erstwhile mother-in-law ever planned to leave. The Duchess had arrived, with Lord Martin and the Miss Carshalton Hunt had mentioned, at one o’clock, a perfectly respectable time to call. Unless of course your hostess intended to leave London within the hour.

  She had given Bentham instructions that she was not at home, but upon being confronted with the Duchess of Keswick, he thought it better to check. She had miscalculated badly in deciding to see the Duchess. Most calls of ceremony lasted twenty minutes, but the last time Emma had managed a surreptitious glance at the clock over the fireplace it had been half past one.

  The Duchess had insisted upon seeing the children, so Georgie and Harry were arrayed in their best clothes and seated upon footstools close to the Duchess—whom they had been graciously invited to call Grandmother Duchess. Not that she had exchanged above two sentences with either child, or even seemed to notice them unless Georgie wriggled.

  The arrival of Louisa had only entrenched the Duchess in her position as the two grandmothers sniped at each other with barbed elegance. Louisa arrived and upon Miss Carshalton being presented to her, said with her sweetest smile, ‘Oh, yes. The shipmaster’s daughter.’

  Miss Carshalton inclined her head and agreed that she was.

  Lord Martin stood in moody splendour by the fireplace, responding in monosyllables to Emma’s attempts at conversation. As he moved slightly, she caught a glimpse of the clock. Nearly quarter to two. They should be leaving shortly. Darkness closed in so early at this time of year and the last thing she wanted was to be travelling after dark.

  ‘Impatient to be shot of us, ma’am?’

  Lord Martin’s soft voice was edged with ice.

  Emma flushed. ‘Not at all, Lord Martin,’ she lied. ‘It must always be a delight to see my children’s relatives.’

  His dark brows shot up. ‘Not yours?’

  She met the mocking gaze with hauteur. ‘No, sir. Not mine. That was made evident long ago.’

  Lord Martin grimaced and inclined his head. ‘Touché. As well females don’t fence. You’d hit something painful.’ He pushed away from the chimney piece. ‘Mother, we should be taking our leave. Lady Huntercombe is casting meaningful glances at the clock and I must escort Kit...er, that is, Miss Carshalton, home.’

  Louisa closed her eyes, saying in pained accents, ‘Really, Emma, have you forgotten all conduct?’ She gave the Duchess a sweet smile. ‘Such a relief to see her well settled! A mother always worries about the choices her children make. So pleasing when they listen to reason, is it not?’

  The Duchess’s eyes turned flinty. She spoke in tones that dripped condescension. ‘Indeed. I am pleased to say that, unlike his poor brother, Lord Martin has been most dutiful in that regard. We shall shortly be making an Interesting Announcement.’

  Miss Carshalton blushed crimson.

  It was hard to say if Louisa looked more intrigued or chagrined, but good breeding prevented her from saying anything more than, ‘How charming!’

  Emma contrived to look suitably delighted. ‘Congratulations, sir.’

  He eyed her coolly. ‘Optimistic when you have not been furnished with the lady’s name.’

  In light of Miss Carshalton’s heightened colour, Emma thought she had been furnished with all that was needful. ‘I am sure if the Duchess approves, that the lady is all that is amiable.’

  His mouth quirked. ‘Thank you. She is.’ He glanced at Miss Carshalton, an odd expression on his face. ‘Miss Carshalton has done me the honour to accept my hand.’

  The Duchess preened a little, reaching out to pat Miss Carshalton’s hand. ‘Dear Katherine. Such a modest, unassuming girl. Just the sort of bride a mother wishes for her son.’

  Emma turned to smile at Miss Carshalton. And wondered. The younger woman’s blush had faded, leaving her pale and wan. ‘May I wish you happy, Miss Carshalton?’ What had Lord Martin called her? Kit? At least that suggested some affection, but—

  If anything the girl paled further. ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’ Her voice was slightly husky and Emma thought the gloved hands trembled.

  Georgie looked up from the book she had supposedly been absorbed in. ‘Are you going to be married, sir? To Miss Carshalton?’

  Emma blinked. Georgie had been listening a great deal more carefully than she would have thought.

  Lord Martin looked surprised, too, but that might have been at being directly addressed by his niece. ‘It seems so.’

  Georgie frowned. ‘Don’t you know?’

  Lord Martin grinned, looking more like Peter than ever.

  ‘Yes, I am very definitely getting married.’

  ‘Like Mama,’ Georgie said. She favoured Lord Martin and Miss Carshalton with the angelic smile that warned Emma she was up to something. ‘When Mama got married Harry and I gave her away. At least we can keep her, but we share her with Uncle Hunt now.’

  ‘Uncle Hunt? Do you call him that?’

  Georgie nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He cleared his throat and crouched down beside her. ‘This sir business could become tedious. Why don’t you just call me Uncle Martin? I am your uncle, you know.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Mama explained. And...you look like Papa.’ He flushed. ‘At least, I think so. It was a long time ago.’

  Lord Martin’s face was expressionless. ‘Yes, it is. You do not have a picture of him?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘No, sir. That is, Uncle Martin.’

  ‘I see.’ Lord Martin hesitated. ‘Well, I think—’

  ‘Sir—Uncle Martin?’ Georgie tugged at his cuff. ‘Would you like us to give Miss Carshalton to you?’

  Louisa made a pained sort of sound, but a low chuckle broke from Miss Carshalton. ‘Thank you, Georgie. That’s very kind, but I think my father will do that. However, I am sure there would be some flowers you could carry. In fact, I shall see to it.’

  Georgie looked positively smug at this and Lord Martin looked as though he were trying not to grin. He glanced at Emma. ‘Perhaps Miss Carshalton and I might take the children out one day soon? They might like ices at Gunter’s.’

  ‘That is very kind of you, sir, but—’

  ‘Mama would like an ice, too,’ Georgie announced. ‘She could tell Miss Carshalton about being married. But we’re going to live somewhere else this afternoon.’

  Lord Martin blinked. ‘Somewhere else?’

  Emma fought back a laugh at his obvious confusion. ‘I am taking the children out to Huntercombe’s house at Isleworth this afternoon, sir.’

  ‘Just yourself and th
e children?’ The Duchess sounded like a seagull swooping on a particularly smelly piece of fish. ‘Huntercombe does not go?’

  Emma stiffened her spine. She would not be baited by this woman. There was nothing unusual in a husband and wife being apart for a few days. ‘Huntercombe has commitments here in town. He will join us in a day or two.’ She hoped.

  ‘Of course.’ Seagulls didn’t usually coo, but somehow the Duchess did it, and Emma could just imagine the whispers spreading out in widening ripples.

  Poor Huntercombe. I hear Emma Lacy is quite impossible these days. They say he has lost no time in bundling her off to Isleworth with her children. One wonders exactly how she caught him. Of course, he does need an heir...

  Speculative eyebrows would lift and everyone would be counting on their fingers the moment any Interesting Condition was confirmed...

  The Duchess rose, held out a gracious, beringed hand to Emma, her expression saintly. ‘Good day, Lady Huntercombe. We shall not delay you further.’ She glanced at her son. ‘You must deliver dear Katherine home in good time, Martin.’ She smiled at Miss Carshalton. ‘And we must discuss our engagements for this evening, my dear.’ She inclined her head to Louisa. ‘Dear Louisa, I do compliment you on your confidence in wearing that particular shade. So many women would consider it ageing.’ On this parting shot she sailed from the field of combat, colours flying, Lord Martin leaping to open the door for her and Miss Carshalton, who uttered a breathless farewell and hurried after her mother-in-law-to-be.

  Louisa, eyes flinty, also took her leave, her gracious air showing signs of wear around the edges. ‘I think, Emma dear, that your place should be with your husband. I am sure the children will settle quite readily without—’

  ‘Mother, you must excuse me.’ Emma hoped a sweet smile would cover the interruption. ‘Goodbye. It was lovely to see you.’

  Sometimes a small lie could be justified, but judging by Louisa’s disapproving mien, this one had been wasted. She took her leave, not bothering to say anything to the children.

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her mother. ‘Harry, take Georgie up to the nursery. Ask Bessie and Jane to get you into your travelling clothes quickly. I’ll order the carriage to be brought around.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  * * *

  Hunt stared at his travelling carriage in disbelief as he alighted from his town carriage behind it. He glanced up at the sky, but clouds hid the sun, so he pulled his watch out. Three o’clock. The light would start to fade in half an hour and it was likely to take half an hour to clear London.

  Even as he strode towards the carriage, Emma came out of the house with the children and two footmen piled with rugs.

  ‘Look, Mama!’ Georgie tugged at Emma’s hand and pointed. ‘It’s Uncle Hunt.’ She gave Hunt her most enchanting smile. ‘Are you coming with us? Mama said you couldn’t.’

  ‘My lord.’ Emma looked somewhat frayed around the edges as she lifted Georgie into the carriage. ‘You will excuse us if we keep going, I hope.’

  ‘My dear.’ He caught her hands. ‘It’s far too late to leave now. It will be getting dark soon.’

  ‘There is still time if we do not delay,’ she said, flushing. ‘I know we should have left over an hour ago. My mother called and the Duchess of Keswick.’ She glanced at Harry. ‘I could hardly refuse to see them, or kick them out when they remained longer than I expected.’

  He could certainly understand that. But still... ‘Emma, leave in the morning. Surely—’

  ‘Aren’t we going after all?’ Harry asked. ‘Mama said there would be time.’

  ‘There is,’ Emma said. ‘If we leave now.’

  He could override her and order Masters to put the carriage away. He didn’t want to do that. Certainly not after the way he’d left things this morning. He looked again at the sky. ‘Masters?’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Is there time to reach Austerleigh before dark?’

  ‘If we leave now, my lord. Horses are fresh. Luggage went on ahead, so it’s just my lady and Master Harry and Miss Georgie. We’ll make good time, never you fear.’

  If Masters said it was all right, then it was. And yet... Hunt fought down the urge to order Emma and the children straight back into the house.

  ‘Very well.’ He offered Emma his hand. ‘Up with you.’

  She laid her hand lightly on his and stepped into the carriage. ‘If you cannot come the day after tomorrow—’

  ‘I’ll be out tomorrow afternoon.’ He gripped her hand. ‘You won’t mind?’ He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

  She stared. ‘Of course not. But your meetings—’

  His fingers tightened on hers. ‘I have one here tomorrow morning.’ No one else knew that yet, but they would as soon as he sent notes around. ‘I’ll come mid-afternoon.’ He tucked one of the carriage rugs around her. Essence of Emma surrounded him, sinking deep, and he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Soft. Silky soft. And not just her wrist. She was soft and silken everywhere—He broke off, realising he had an interested audience. ‘Are you warm enough, Georgie?’ The child was buried in a veritable sea of furs.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Hunt.’ A dimple flashed. ‘I’m a bug in a rug!’

  He laughed. ‘Are you? You’re certainly snug enough. Harry.’ He turned and held out a hand to the boy. ‘Look after your mother and sister for me.’

  Look after your mother and little brother and sister for me...

  Harry gripped his hand. ‘Yes, sir.’ Pride blazed in the boy’s face and for a shattering instant time reversed and Hunt saw that other boy’s shining eyes as he set out on his last journey. Harry lowered his voice. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you think I could sit up on the box with Masters and Jem?’

  Pain stabbed at him. Simon, Lionel and Gerald had taken turns sitting up with Masters and the groom. ‘Emma?’

  She smiled, a little lopsidedly. ‘If Masters doesn’t mind.’

  Masters chuckled. ‘Never knew a lad wouldn’t rather sit up here than inside. Come along, young master.’

  Hunt boosted Harry up, passed up a carriage rug Emma handed to him. ‘Use it. If you catch cold your mother won’t let you do this again.’ He looked back at Emma. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And we’ll talk.’

  He stepped back, allowing the footman to put up the steps and close the door.

  On the box, having tucked the rug around Harry, Masters touched the whip to his hat. ‘We’ll take care of them, my lord.’

  Hunt nodded, curbing the nagging fear, the memory of seeing Anne and the children off on that last journey eleven years ago. Lightning didn’t strike twice. And in case it did, he’d made enquiries—there was no sickness or disease near Austerleigh. They were safe.

  * * *

  Emma sank back against the squabs. There had been something in Hunt’s voice, in his eyes, as he’d tucked the rug around her. Something in the way he’d said, we’ll talk. Something that had made her long to suggest that he just got into the carriage and came with them. But she must not. A wife must not demand her husband’s attention. She must not be forever expecting him to dance attendance on her.

  The courtship, such as it had been, was over. They were married. But...we’ll talk... Perhaps he wanted to reiterate the terms of their marriage. But his eyes, tired and haunted, hadn’t been saying that at all.

  She glanced at Georgie, occupied with looking out the window. Both children were thrilled to be going on what Harry had described as another adventure. Logically she knew it was the best thing for them. There would be time and space for them to adjust to their new life. Lord Cambourne’s young brother-in-law would arrive tomorrow for a few days. There would be far more for the children to do while she set about the task of interviewing and engaging a gove
rness. Hunt had already written to a couple of potential tutors for Harry.

  All very logical and sensible. Like her marriage. Only she wasn’t being very logical and sensible about that.

  * * *

  Hunt stared unseeing at the document he was supposed to be reviewing. He’d read it three times and nothing had lodged in his brain. His mind was miles away—literally—thinking about where Emma and the children must be by now.

  Barclay cleared his throat. ‘Sir?’

  Hunt gave himself a mental shake. ‘Right. It seems to me—’ He searched for something to say that would suggest he had actually retained something on the subject of the war with France.

  ‘Sir? Don’t you think you would concentrate better at Austerleigh?’

  He narrowed his eyes at Barclay. God knew he allowed William a great deal of licence, but—

  ‘May I remind you that I have a meeting here tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, be blowed with the meeting, sir!’

  Hunt blinked. How very unlike the responsible, dutiful William. ‘Are you suggesting that I should take French leave?’

  Barclay looked shocked. ‘Certainly not, sir. I’ll cancel it.’

  Despite himself, Hunt laughed.

  ‘Sir, you have been married a week. No one will think it wonderful that you have left town briefly. I’ll reschedule the meeting for early next week and you can ride in for it.’

  Why the devil was he arguing? Hunt rose. ‘Right. Are you coming? Happy to ride?’

  Barclay smiled, gathering papers. ‘I’m packed already. I just need half an hour to make sure I have all the documents.’

  * * *

  ‘Are we nearly there?’