Catherine and the Marquis (Bluestocking Brides Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  Which did not bother him one bit. Why he was so offensive, he wasn’t sure, but he had no time to worry about what young, silly ladies thought of him.

  “He has been cleaning those stables for two days,” Lilith said. “He is so stubborn.”

  Thorne frowned. Was his sister planning to divulge every aspect of his life to Miss Chadwick?

  “The work needs to be done quickly, so I must do it,” he said tightly.

  “He breeds horses,” Lilith said proudly.

  “But of course he does. Men love nothing more than to play God with horses.” Miss Chadwick’s smile was guileless, but he saw the sting behind her eyes.

  “He’s known for breeding some of the finest racehorses in the country,” his sister continued, unaware of the silent exchange happening between them.

  Thorne took a long drink of lemonade, gulping it down unceremoniously and swiping his mouth on the back of his arm. Miss Chadwick’s eyes widened a little and he was not ignorant of her perusal of him. He took a slice of pork pie, jammed it into his mouth and chewed it hastily. She was not the only one who could put on a show. Miss Chadwick thought herself special because she had few manners and a bold tongue. Well, let her know that anyone could be uncouth, even a marquis.

  “Thank you for the drink, Lil. I have better get back to work.”

  Lilith rolled her eyes. “You make a terrible marquis. No manners at all.”

  Not unlike a certain lady in their company. He glanced her way and caught her narrowing her gaze at him. He had her a little riled. Good. The last thing he wanted was Miss Chadwick feeling she had some sort of superiority over him.

  Chapter Five

  “I think the baby will be a girl. It has to be,” Catherine insisted to Julia who walked beside her while their mother and sister Amelia walked ahead with the pram containing baby Nicholas.

  Julia shook her head. “Emma will have a boy. Amelia has started the trend.”

  “I had better visit Emma today. She must be losing her wits remaining in confinement,” Catherine said.

  “Morgan is keeping her happy no doubt. The man would do anything for her. Besides, if you go, she will only knit you something.”

  Catherine gave a mock shudder. Their sister had taken up knitting shortly after her marriage to Morgan and had yet to lose interest in it. Which was a shame as Emma had no skill for it. Previously Emma had skipped from hobby to hobby but for some reason her marriage had meant she had decided to stick with knitting.

  “I still have those mittens she made me for Christmas. I cannot get my fingers into them without wriggling them through the knots.”

  Julia nodded. “She made a scarf for me. It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

  Catherine giggled. “Including that awful feather bonnet Mama gave me?”

  “Worse than that. And you know how I feel about feather bonnets.”

  Catherine nodded. Julia adored nature and animals. The fact that feathers from birds were used for fashion was abhorrent to her. Catherine could not say she loved feathers adorning hats any more than Julia did, but she did not have quite the same anger about it that her sister did. Unless, of course, her mother gifted her another awful bonnet and insisted she wear it.

  Their mother and Amelia came to a stop in front of the haberdashery and Amelia took the opportunity to lift the squalling Nicholas into her arms. The chubby-cheeked baby pressed his face into his mother’s chest and gripped his tiny fingers around the collar of her pelisse while she shushed him.

  “He has a tooth coming through,” Amelia explained when Catherine stroked a finger down a rather reddened cheek. “It is making him quite grumpy.”

  “Who can blame him? I would be grumpy too.” Catherine stroked his fluffy gingery hair and smiled at him when she caught the baby’s eye. He gave a little grizzle and burrowed himself back against his mother.

  “A little whisky would sort him out nicely,” Mama declared.

  “I won’t touch whisky so I certainly would not give it to my son, Mama,” said Amelia firmly.

  Their mother huffed. “I gave plenty to you girls when you were babies and you all turned out healthy. I used to give some to Catherine just to get her to sleep. She was such a handful.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Julia with a laugh. “All that whisky addled her brain.”

  “Hardly. I’m not the one who is always chasing after otters and the like.” Catherine poked her tongue out at Julia.

  “I do not chase otters. I study them.” Julia turned her nose up. “And there is nothing wrong with studying nature.”

  Catherine lifted a shoulder. “If you say so, but I am sure more people talk about the Duchess of Weston and her strange fascination for otters than about me.”

  Julia glared at her. “Well—”

  “Is that not a beautiful fabric?” Amelia said, pointing in the window of the shop.

  Catherine eyed the fabric vaguely, aware her sister was only trying to divert the argument. Of all the sisters, Julia was the easiest to get into an argument with. Everyone always accused Catherine of being the most stubborn of them all but she was certain Julia was in fact the stubbornest.

  “We should have some more gowns made up for you, Catherine. A quick trip to London might be in order,” Mama mused.

  “Oh no.” Catherine held up her hands. “I already have several new gowns and I do not intend to step anywhere near London until we go down for the Season. I have been prodded and poked by enough dressmakers to last me a lifetime.”

  “But that dress looks so tired.” Mama ran her gaze over Catherine and barely suppressed a sigh. “How will you catch anyone’s eye when you look like that?”

  Julia rolled her eyes and Amelia offered an apologetic look. Catherine instantly dismissed her mother’s words. She looked completely satisfactory in this dress which was only about three months old.

  “This dress is fine and I have no need to impress anyone,” Catherine insisted.

  “You know full well that is not true.” Mama pressed a forceful hand through the gap between Catherine’s arm and side and maneuvered her hand so that she had no choice but to walk arm in arm with her mother.

  “Who does Catherine need to impress, Mama?” asked Julia, too eagerly for Catherine’s liking. “I was not aware Guy was having any new visitors and I did not think Nicholas was either. Are you having someone important visit, Amelia?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No one that Catherine does not already know.”

  “So who is it, Mama? Who is Catherine meant to win over?”

  If they had not been walking, Catherine would have jabbed an elbow in Julia’s side. Why her sister took delight in encouraging their mother in her ideas, she did not know. Just because they were all happily married to titled gentlemen did not mean she wanted to be. And it did not mean any titled gentlemen wanted her either.

  Interest in her had been on the increase sister her sisters had all married rich, well-connected men, but she had yet to meet anyone truly interested in her. Besides which, they were all stuffy prigs who turned their noses up at her once they realized she would make a terrible wife.

  “Is it not obvious?” Mama said to Julia.

  Julia opened her palms and shrugged. “I am not a mystic, Mama.”

  “The Marquis of Thornefield, of course.” Their mother spoke as though they were all very dim indeed.

  “Oh, of course. How silly of me.” Julia grinned. “The mere fact he is a marquis means that he will fall for Catherine, is that correct?”

  Mama shot Julia a sharp look. “If she follows in you and your sisters’ footsteps, then, yes. And she will. It is fate, I am sure of it. The passing of the elder marquis was so timely.”

  “That’s a bit cold, Mama,” Catherine said.

  “He was an old man, it was his time. Besides, if he had lived much longer the entire estate would have been ruined. I imagine his wife is quite grateful he is finally gone.” Mama sniffed. “He was a terrible excuse for a marquis.�
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  Amelia shook her head in disbelief. “Mama, you are not meant to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Why? He cannot hear me.” Mama tugged Catherine closer. “His son is much better, though. Mrs. Beale said he is known to be a stalwart character and he dotes on his sister so. Tell me that is not the mark of a good man.”

  “A good man, perhaps, but a boring one too,” Catherine muttered.

  Mama paused. “Pardon?”

  “Oh nothing at all. I just do not think we should make judgements already,” Catherine said.

  “Quite right,” Amelia agreed. “This marquis has just lost his father and no doubt has much to do if the estate is so close to ruin. We should not speculate.”

  “But he will have to marry soon, will he not, Mama? If he is wifeless, it is his duty to take on a wife.” Julia winked in Catherine’s direction and Catherine shot her a glare that she ignored.

  Mama nodded. “All these rich men are always on the lookout for a good wife. And where else would he look but at our Catherine?”

  “I fear, Mama, you shall be sorely disappointed. He will not be any more interested in me than I would be in him.”

  And she was certainly not interested. By all appearances, his reputation for being stalwart was true. Lilith had confided that her brother could be horribly rigid and did nothing but work. She did not care how rich or how titled a man was, she would never marry a bore.

  Even if he had taken her by surprise yesterday. She had certainly never expected the man she had met in the drawing room of Julia’s house to be digging in the dirt, covered in sweat and revealing an awful lot of surprisingly tanned skin.

  “You’re blushing.”

  Catherine swung a look Julia’s way. “I certainly am not.”

  Julia’s grin widened. “I would not blame you. He is handsome.”

  “I should tell Guy you said that,” Catherine shot back.

  Julia smirked. “Go ahead. He would not mind. He knows I think him the handsomest man ever. Anyway, we are not talking about Guy. We’re talking about the marquis and why he makes you blush.”

  Catherine bit back a growl of annoyance. Unfortunately, her sisters knew her too well and she could feel the telltale heat in her cheeks. It was only because she had not really seen a man like the marquis in such little clothing, that was all. It could have been any man and she would be blushing.

  Well, not just any man. She had seen some farm workers with their shirt sleeves up and their collars open. But there had been something about the way his shirt stuck to his body. She could swear she had never seen such strong arms or wide shoulders, but that wasn’t true, surely? All her brothers-in-law were strong men and Guy was known to be about the handsomest man in England. Yet none of them had ever made her blush.

  “You really are blushing,” Amelia said quietly, as if in awe.

  “Oh be quiet,” Catherine snapped, ripping her arm from her mother’s and storming on ahead past the chandlery and the inn. She was about to turn around and walk back to them, feeling petulant indeed when a child barreled into her, rolling a wooden hoop along the ground with a stick.

  The little girl glanced up at her fearfully. “Sorry, Miss.” Her bottom lip quivered.

  Catherine crouched and picked up the hoop. “You don’t need to be sorry, but you do need to be more careful. What if a horse ran into you?”

  “I just wanted to make my hoop go faster.” The girl tucked her hands into a grimy apron and tugged at the fabric. “My brother said girls cannot roll as fast as boys.”

  “Did he indeed?” Catherine opened her hand for the stick. “Well your brother is a liar, I’m afraid. Girls are much better than boys and can always beat boys in a hoop race.”

  The little girl handed over the stick and Catherine set it on the ground. She started it rolling slowly then tapped it to get it moving faster and faster. The little girl squealed in delight.

  “Quickly,” called Catherine. “You need to keep up the speed.”

  The girl ran alongside her and took the stick from Catherine to keep the hoop rolling down the road. Catherine paused for a quick breath as the child dashed after the hoop while it careened past the shops and people. She smiled and chuckled at the girl’s clear delight when the hoop jumped over a bump in the road and crashed right into a tree.

  “That was so fast,” shouted the girl.

  Catherine’s amusement faded fast when a prickle of awareness dashed up her spine and her gaze connected with the disapproving one of Lord Thornefield. Standing outside of the chandlery, he had clearly viewed her playing with the child and apparently did not much like the display.

  Well, what she did was none of his business. She threw up her chin, grabbed her skirts and dashed over to the little girl, glancing pointedly in Lord Thornefield’s direction.

  “Let’s make it go faster, shall we?”

  Chapter Six

  “Thorney.”

  The softly spoken word whispered through his mind. Thorne groaned. Why the devil did his back feel as though it had been pulled in several directions and put back together? His muscles screamed in protest when he lifted his head and blinked to clear the haziness from his vision.

  Lilith tilted her head and eyed him. “You should have gone to bed hours ago,” she scolded gently.

  He eased up from the desk and put a hand to the knot at the top of his spine. “I was not aware you were trying to take the place of Mother,” he grumbled as he plucked off a piece of paper that had stuck to his face.

  His sister giggled, licked a thumb and swiped something from his cheek. He tried to bat her hand away, but she came in again and rubbed furiously before perching her bottom on the desk and sighing. “You are working too hard.”

  “Is there such thing as working too hard?” He pulled several papers from underneath her and tried to recall how he’d organized them before he had fallen asleep in the study.

  “I should imagine when one forgets to eat and rises earlier than the servants, one is working too hard.” Lilith gave a little pout. “It was terribly lonely at dinner.”

  A pang of guilt shot through him. It probably did not matter that he was doing this for her—well for all his siblings really. Their sister was well situated enough but their brother needed a good deal of income to support him. Unless Felton married an heiress, Thorne’s younger brother would always rely on him for money.

  So would Lilith for the foreseeable future. If she was to marry happily and well, Thorne would need a sizable dowry so she was not forced to choose an unhappy match simply for money like Nancy had.

  But, of course, Lilith would not understand that. Their mother had sheltered her so much so that she hardly realized the damage Father had done. If it was up to Thorne, he would keep it that way.

  “I apologize. I shall be sure to join you tomorrow.”

  Lilith let out a dramatic sigh. “This house is too large and quiet. I am not used to being so alone.”

  Thorne nodded. Before the death of their father, Lilith had enjoyed an active social life within the realm of not being entirely out in society. Thorne did not miss it one bit, but Lilith was not the sort to enjoy solitude and quiet.

  “A grand house like this is designed to be enjoyed. We need guests. Lots of guests.” She grinned. “Just think how it will be when the ballroom is full for my coming out ball. It will be wonderful.”

  “Yes, wonderful,” he intoned.

  The idea of a ball and all those people sent a tremor of dread down is spine and into his gut. He could do without all these visitors who would bring nothing but feckless gossip and mildly irritating conversation. His time was far better spent working on the estate than entertaining people he did not give one damn about.

  However, as soon as the house was ready to host people, he would ensure Lilith had the ball she deserved. She had been so patient that he owed her that much.

  “Oh do not be such a grumps.” She gave his arm a nudge with a hand. “I know you are not one for dancing, but I a
m sure there shall be some beautiful women in attendance that will make it worth your while.”

  He resisted rolling his eyes and gave a twisted smile. A wife would have to be in his future eventually but where he would find a woman suited to being his marchioness, he did not know. Most of the women of his acquaintance were too young, too silly, and would likely cause him nothing but hassle. An older woman would suit, perhaps. A widow maybe—someone closer to his age—who understood the ideas of responsibility and hard work.

  Certainly not someone like the young Miss Chadwick. Even when he’d been sleeping, he could not rid himself of the image of her dashing along, her skirts held high and covered in dirt while she screeched in delight at causing utter chaos in the village. Her sisters might be well married and titled but the youngest one had not one ounce of decorum. It did seem, though, that Lilith had taken quite a shine to her.

  “Perhaps you should visit with Miss Chadwick tomorrow,” he suggested. “I am sure she shall be able to keep the boredom away for a while.”

  “I just might,” Lilith agreed. “She is wonderfully funny, do you not think? I almost wish I could be like her. She does not give one hoot about what people think of her. How marvelous it must be to feel like that.”

  “Marvelous indeed,” he said dryly.

  He could not quite decide if the wild Miss Chadwick would be a good influence on Lilith or not. His logic said not but his gut said otherwise. His sister was sweet and beautiful in her way, but society would overlook her once she was out. Were it not for her holding the title of lady and sister to a marquis, he would have little hope of her finding someone to love her. He knew all too well how fickle people could be and had already witnessed her being ignored by ladies and gentlemen alike simply because she was not traditionally beautiful. His sister was unfortunately far too aware of this fact.

  Perhaps if he ignored the unconventional attitude of Miss Chadwick, she could teach Lilith to care less about what others thought.

  “You are working too hard, Thorney.” His sister stood and plucked a sheet of paper from the desk to eye it. She shook her head and flung it back down.