Catherine and the Marquis (Bluestocking Brides Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  Dressing quickly, Catherine braided her hair—not bothering to call for Flora who frequently did her hair in the afternoons for her. She had no plans to visit anyone today and fully intended to spend the afternoon reading in the drawing room. Her oldest sister Amelia had recently written a new book and Catherine was keen to start it.

  She peeked her head into the breakfast room. Luckington Grange was no grand house but was sizeable. Her father’s work as a lawyer combined with their mother’s inheritance had kept them in good stead and they wanted for little. Catherine touched a finger to the grooves in the doorway where she and her sisters had marked their growth until they’d finally stopped growing. Her marks were the lowest. She had never quite caught up with them all for some reason.

  “Catherine!” her mother said from her seat at the breakfast table. “Are you unwell?”

  Catherine smiled and shook her head. She understood her mother’s surprise. Even if she was up early, she rarely joined her mother for the morning meal. Mama’s gossip was not easily tolerated when one was not a morning person she found.

  “I’m well. Mr. B. woke me.”

  Her mother shook her head and lowered her fork. “You should not call him that.”

  “Why ever not?” Catherine took a seat opposite her mother and reached for the pot of coffee. She yawned. Coffee was very much needed right now.

  Her mother glanced around as though the walls might have spies hidden in them. “Mr. Bartholomew was just a little misguided.”

  “He wanted an affair with Emma, Mama. I would have thought that would be enough to gain your disapproval.”

  Her mother gave a little shrug. “Emma is the prettiest of you, apart from Lavinia of course. Who can blame him?”

  Catherine ignored the remark. For years her mother had been complaining that they were all red and freckled unlike Mama whose fair hair was now flecked with streaks of white at the temples. If she had ever thought Emma prettier than their sister Lavinia, she doubted Emma had been told it.

  “He could be another Mr. B,” Catherine pointed out, spearing a sausage on the end of her fork and placing it on her place. “There’s Mr. Bennett. Mr. Bradley. Oh, do not forget Mr. Bishop. He could be named for any of them.”

  “I know full well which Mr. B. you named it after and I do not approve.”

  “Well you can call him something else, Mama, but I think he’s only answering to Mr. B. now.”

  “Are my ladies arguing already?” her father asked when he entered the room, preventing her mother from scolding her.

  Catherine smiled at her father. Hopefully having him around would at least prevent her mother from nagging and reprimanding her so much.

  Her papa sat at the head of the table and loaded up his plate with food. Catherine glanced around the table. It was hard to remember the last time they had broken their fast together. Probably when Emma had married, and her father had rushed back for a hasty wedding before vanishing off to somewhere else in the country where his work was demanded. But the rest of her sisters had still been around, so it was quite a different ambiance to before.

  “Goodness, it is quiet without your sisters,” her father declared.

  Catherine grinned. “Well, I can make more noise if you wish, Papa.”

  He chuckled. “I think your mother will have something to say about that.”

  “Indeed.” Mama sniffed. “It is not ladylike to make a noise.”

  “A single noise, Mama? That seems nearly impossible.”

  Her father gave a cough. “It seems you are in want of company, Catherine,” he said, cutting off her mother’s responding rebuke once more.

  “Nearly all married, is it not wonderful?” Mama near beamed at this idea.

  He nodded. “All my rubies have been plucked up it seems. Though I cannot say I approve of how the last match came about but at least it is settled.”

  “At least she is a countess!” her mother reminded him.

  “At least she is happy,” Catherine corrected.

  Mama waved a dismissive hand. “All daughters married to gentlemen, can you believe it?”

  “Indeed, I cannot. All apart from little Catherine here of course.”

  “I am not so little,” Catherine protested. “I’m nearly three and twenty now. Practically a spinster.”

  “Oh hush,” Mama said. “It is not ladylike to talk of one’s age.”

  Catherine debated reminding her mother that she was rarely ladylike anyway but decided it was pointless. If she was to obey her mother’s rules for what was ladylike and not, she would not be able to do a thing apart from sit upon a chair and remain mute. Even that might be considered unladylike if her mother had anything to do with it.

  “Well, never fear, Catherine. I am sure with such prestigious new brothers, you shall not remain alone for long.” He gave her a wink.

  Catherine tried to send her father a withering look and failed. He knew not to encourage her mother but apparently, she was still in trouble for being out the other night and he was determined she should indulge her mother a little.

  “It might happen sooner rather than later.” Mama gave a smug grin. “The new Marquis of Thornefield is in residence.” She leaned in. “And what happens every single time a new gentleman comes to the area?”

  “Emma met Morgan in London,” Catherine pointed out, fully aware where this was leading.

  “What happens, my dear?” her father asked with a grin.

  Mama gave an exasperated huff. “Why, they fall for our girls of course!”

  “Of course they do.” Papa took a long sip of coffee. “And I suppose you think this marquis will fall for our Catherine?”

  “Papa!” Catherine was tempted to throw down her napkin and storm from the room. Why was he insisting on encouraging her mother’s ludicrous ideas?

  “It’s only a matter of time,” her mother said confidently. “I heard that you have already met him.”

  A tiny trickle of a chill ran into her stomach. If her mother had heard of their accidental meeting—if a kick to the shins and a struggle could be considered as such—then she’d have her married off to the man within a week.

  “You did not,” Catherine countered coolly.

  Her mother “I did indeed. Mrs. Stafford’s daughter—whose serving maid is the cousin of Mary Bramble who is married to Big Tom who has been working at the stables at Guy’s estate since he took it over said as much.”

  “Of course she did,” Catherine muttered, propping her cheek on a hand.

  “He was visiting with Julia, was he not? And his sister was there. Was she pretty? And pleasant? Mrs. Stafford said Tom could not comment on the marquis’s appearance as he would not know what appeals to young women but that the sister was a little homely. It has been a long time since any of them were in Hampshire. I only remember them as children.”

  Catherine shook her head. Lilith had spectacles and was a little on the plump side, but her features were extremely pretty and her black hair glossy. More importantly, there was that little spark in her eyes that told Catherine she could be quite fun when she was not in polite company. Not that she had ever considered Julia that polite, but she had been in what Catherine liked to call ‘duchess guise’.

  Catherine realized her mother was staring at her intently. “I thought she was pretty.”

  “Well, I do not suppose it matters. She will be snapped up soon enough. Mrs. Stafford said she was going to enter into society soon. I suspect she will be married within a season.”

  “Mrs. Stafford seems to know everything that happened yesterday,” Catherine mused. “She must have had her ear pressed to the door.”

  Mama lowered her cup and glared at Catherine. “Mrs. Stafford is a good woman and would never do such things. It is the servants that do the gossiping. Who am I to be rude and ignore what a friend has to say?”

  “Yes, of course. It is only the servants who gossip.” Catherine shared a look with her father.

  “Was the marquis hand
some?” her mother asked. “Though, I suppose it does not matter if he is. He is a marquis after all.”

  “I did not really notice.” Catherine dropped her gaze and stared at the half-eaten sausage on her plate. All this talk of that man had ruined any appetite.

  “Surely you looked at the man? You are not blind, Catherine. Did he have a good chin? I cannot stand men with no chin. And nice eyes? What of his eyes?”

  “He had eyes and a chin,” Catherine replied blithely.

  Mama shook her head. “You are the most stubborn girl. Whatever did I do to deserve such a stubborn child?”

  “You will meet him soon enough I’m sure, Mama,” Catherine assured her. “Then you can assess his chin and eyes for yourself.”

  “I shall have to pay my respects soon enough, my dear.” Papa patted the back of his wife’s hand. “Your curiosity will be satisfied then.”

  “You should do so presently. You are an important man in this community. It would not do to leave it too long.” Mama dabbed her upper lip with a napkin and eyed Catherine. “And you should visit with his sister. I am sure she could do with a friend in the area.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to protest. It was not that she did not wish to be friends with Lilith—she had seemed fun and friendly, unlike her brother—but she loathed being forced into things. However, her father’s raised brow made her clamp her mouth shut and nod meekly.

  “Hopefully the marquis will be there,” her mother said gleefully.

  Catherine could not hold back a groan and a roll of her eyes. Her mother’s hopes of her being matched with any man were futile, particularly this marquis. She’d rather marry Mr. B—the cat version or the human version.

  Chapter Four

  Sweat trickled down his back and Thorne paused to swipe the damp from his forehead on the back of a shirt sleeve. Damned weather couldn’t make up its mind. First showers, now glorious sunshine. He’d rather the rain. At least it would keep him cool as he toiled.

  He paused, propping the rake on the ground and resting against the handle to admire his work. It would be worth it once he could stable some horses here. The stables had been left in a terrible condition by his father and the lack of staff. They needed cleaning, repairing, and a good repaint. He’d already taken on two new stable hands, but he was keen to get started and three bodies could do more than two. The two other men were working on cleaning the far end of the building at present. Once this was done, he’d patch the roof himself. It would save the estate a few pennies, and God knows, he needed to save pennies wherever he could since paying the estate taxes and his father’s debts.

  Thorne pressed a hand to the knot in the back of his neck and rolled his head. There was something to be said for the satisfaction that came with manual labor but he didn’t much appreciate the aches and pains that came with it.

  Eyeing the pile of old, sodden hay and various farming machinery that had been abandoned in the empty stables, he set back to work with extra determination. His own horses were stabled in a smaller building nearer the house that had been made hospitable for them. There was no chance he was putting such fine beasts in a place like this but the sooner he had it made ready for them, the better. Then he could get to work with the breeding program he intended to put in place. Before long the estate would be known for the best horses in all the country.

  He swept the hay into a pile and loaded it onto a wheelbarrow to wheel outside. Harsh sunshine made him blink as he stepped outside, his muscles pulling from the weight of the barrow. He tipped it over and emptied it onto the great pile he’d already created.

  “Oh!”

  He paused. The sun beating down made her hair redder than ever. Her eyes squinted at him and she had a hand to her chest. Her lips were parted in surprise and he saw her throat work.

  “Miss Chadwick,” he said, aware the word came out a dry drawl.

  “It is you,” she exclaimed.

  “In the flesh.”

  Her gaze lingered on said flesh and he grew aware of his unkempt state. His shirt collar was open and his sleeves were rolled up. No doubt his appearance was shocking indeed with sweat sticking the fabric to his skin and grime covering his skin and clothing.

  “Whatever are you doing?”

  He motioned to the pile of straw and dirt. “Cleaning.”

  She glanced around him into the building. “Surely you have men for that?”

  Clearly the woman thought him some useless rich gentleman who had no time for anything other than drinking and gambling. Much like his father. The idea grated at his insides. He was nothing like his father. He never had been and never would be. For the most part, he did not care what others thought—it had always been his mother and sisters who had suffered most from the gossip—but for some unknown reason, it bothered him what she thought.

  “I do.”

  She opened her mouth and shut it. In a pale gown trimmed with a little gold embroidery at the sleeves, hem, and bust line, she was every inch the delicate young miss. Her unusually slight build combined with the freckles and coils of red hair gave her an innocent air. Were it not for their two meetings so far, he would be inclined to imagine she was a sweet young lady—much like the many, many young women he had come to meet while escorting his sisters about. Every one of them had been the same. Giggly, gossipy, and silly.

  What Miss Chadwick was, however, he was not sure.

  “I almost did not recognize you,” she said, finally.

  “Like you did not recognize me the other night?”

  “It was the middle of the night!”

  “And you were on my land,” he countered.

  “I hardly expected to be accosted.”

  “Nor I. And I still have the bruises to prove it.”

  She glanced at his leg as though she could see the damage her toes had caused. In truth, there were no bruises. The swift kick from her had taken him by surprise but the damage had faded quickly.

  Her chin lifted. “If you grab a woman, I am not sure what else you can expect. Especially when it is dark.”

  “What were you doing on my land anyway?”

  “I was looking at the stars.”

  “The stars?”

  “Yes.” Miss Chadwick motioned to the sky. “The stars. You might have seen them. They’re small and white. They twinkle. They only come out at night, though, when everyone is fast asleep.”

  Her patronizing tone made his lips quirk. “Forgive my ignorance. I would not have thought a woman like you would be interested in such things.”

  “A woman like me?”

  “Yes, one like you.” He motioned to her. “Or any woman for that matter.”

  She blinked at him. “Your experience of women must be limited indeed.”

  “On the contrary. My sister has exposed me to a great many. I can safely say none of them were interested in stars.”

  There was something about the subtle shift in her body, the way her shoulders pushed back and her fingers furled. He had her on the defensive and it amused him somewhat. From what he had seen of her yesterday, he doubted many people could aggravate her. He could, it seemed.

  “I think, my lord, that you will be surprised by the ladies in Hampshire.”

  “They are all interested in stars?”

  “No.” She made a sound of frustration. “What I mean to say is they have many varied interests.”

  “Well so long as they do not start trespassing on my land and kicking me in the shins, I do not much care what their interests are.”

  “So long as you do not grab them, they will not kick you.” Her lips moved into a sassy little pout that made his own lips quirk.

  “You do not deny trespassing then?”

  “I was doing no harm.”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Tell that to my shins.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I have been going to the folly for years. No one minded before.”

  “I very much doubt anyone noticed.”

  “What were you doing ou
t there anyway?”

  “You question what I, the landowner, was doing on his own land? You were damned lucky it was me who came across you and not some poacher or highwayman.”

  “Highwayman?” She laughed. “There are no highwaymen here. Besides,” she folded her arms, “I can defend myself.”

  “Oh yes, my shins would agree with you.” One of the stable hands emerged outside and Thorne glanced at him. “What is your reason for trespassing today, Miss Chadwick?”

  “I came to see your sister actually. My mother thought she might welcome a friend.”

  “I am sure she would. She has already been complaining of being bored. Lilith is likely at the house if you would like to announce your presence.”

  “Well, I shall leave you to your, um, cleaning.” She gave a hasty dip that he suspected she begrudged giving and hastened away. He watched her until she vanished out of sight, unable to keep the slight smile from his lips. She was trouble, surely? How could she not be with such impertinence? He would have to keep an eye on her and his sister if Miss Chadwick was to be a bad influence.

  He thought no more of her—really he did not—as he toiled for another few hours. Girlish giggles drew him out of the stables and back into the sunlight. Lilith and Miss Chadwick had set down a blanket not far from the stable block.

  Lilith motioned him over. “We brought lemonade and a pork pie.”

  He glanced at his grimy hands. He was hardly in the right condition to picnic with young ladies, but had he not already decided he cared little what Miss Chadwick thought? And Lilith would not mind.

  Snatching up a cloth, he dipped his hands in the rainwater that had gathered in the trough outside and wiped them down as best as he could. Lilith poured a glass of lemonade and offered it him, patting at the blanket beside her.

  “You have been out here for hours. Sit down,” she insisted.

  He hesitated, stealing a look at Miss Chadwick. She avoided his gaze pointedly. This picnic had to have been his sister’s idea as there was no chance Miss Chadwick would want to increase their time together. It was clear she liked him no more than he liked her.