Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘I suppose it would. We’ll go to the village store tomorrow for fabric.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘You mustn’t spend money on me.’

  ‘But I want to and for once you’re going to let me buy you a present.’

  ‘All right then, and I admit I would like to wear white. That way if I change my mind and make a run for it, at least I’ll be camouflaged.’

  ‘Millie...’

  ‘I know.’ She lifted her fingers to touch her butterfly brooch. It was pinned back where it belonged, just below her throat. ‘Father always said that I would fly away some day, but I don’t think he meant like this. It wasn’t meant to be like this at all.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I refuse to meet her!’ Sylvia stood in the middle of the hallway, five feet of blonde ringlets and heaving bosom, a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. ‘I can’t bear the thought of it!’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Cassius passed his travelling cloak to a footman with an exasperated sigh. He’d only just arrived back from London, had been inside Falconmore Hall for less than thirty seconds, in fact, and already he was sick of his cousin-in-law’s histrionics. If he’d been having second thoughts about his engagement, this spectacle alone would have silenced them. He tapped his breast pocket, reassuring himself that the special licence was tucked safely inside.

  ‘You mean you don’t care if I don’t meet her?’ The handkerchief fell from Sylvia’s grasp and floated to the floor.

  ‘Not particularly. Hide in your room, if you wish. Of course, she’ll be living here in a matter of days so it might make the domestic arrangements somewhat difficult, but you’re perfectly at liberty to move out. As I’ve mentioned, the Dower House is entirely at your disposal. Then you’d never have to meet her at all.’

  ‘Move out?’ Sylvia’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Is that what she thinks I should do?’

  ‘Miss Fairclough has said nothing of the sort, but it’s certainly something to think about.’

  ‘She trapped you!’

  ‘No...’ Cassius handed his hat and gloves to another footman and started towards the library. ‘The maid who spread rumours about her staying in the gatehouse trapped us.’

  ‘Which one of them was it? Whoever it was, I’ll wring her neck.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort.’ He stopped mid-step. ‘I believe you can leave reprimanding the servants to me. As for Miss Fairclough, she had no intention of trapping anyone.’

  ‘If you believe that...’

  ‘I do, implicitly, and I won’t hear a word to the contrary. Not from anyone.’

  ‘But isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?’

  ‘No. I’m engaged, Sylvia. In a few days there’ll be a new mistress of Falconmore and this...’ he waved a hand between them ‘...needs to stop. Now. Sooner if possible.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t you find me attractive?’ Her wailing tone turned wheedling. ‘Because if you’d only tell me what it is that you want then I could—’

  ‘I want the woman I’ve asked to marry me!’ He spun around with his hand on the library door handle. ‘Now I have a duty to take care of you and your daughters, but in return I expect you to let me live my own life. You can meet Miss Fairclough or not as you choose, but if you do meet then I expect you to treat her with the courtesy and respect she deserves. Is that understood?’

  Sylvia pouted. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to before our guests arrive.’

  He pushed open the library door and closed it firmly and with one last scowl behind him. He was aware of one of his black moods descending, though as usual there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least that conversation with Sylvia was over with. It had actually gone better than he’d expected. Definitely better than Sunday when the news of his engagement had resulted in screaming loud enough to bring half-a-dozen maids running from downstairs. He’d paid a quick visit to the nursery to assure the girls their mother was all right, given a quick nod to Mrs Moore, and then made his escape to London as swiftly as his valet’s packing and his horse’s hooves would allow, Sylvia’s howls still ringing in his ears.

  It had been a long ride there and back, but the snow had mostly melted and the fresh air had been bracing, a welcome respite from the worries that had nagged at him ever since he’d proposed to Millie. At the time, he’d been reasonably content with the outcome, admittedly not overjoyed and yet calm about the decision. After all, he liked her, he certainly found her attractive and he felt a grudging respect for the way she’d tried to refuse him.

  Now, however, he was feeling somewhat unsettled. He didn’t regret it exactly, but he was having...concerns. That was probably the best word. Not about the bride herself, but about what she knew about him, about what she’d witnessed in the gatehouse on the night they’d met and what he, foolishly, had told her.

  He walked around his desk and collapsed into his chair. He might as well have written her out a list of his fears and weaknesses, but it was too late to retract any of it now. She already knew the worst, which meant that all he could do was try to re-establish some kind of distance between them. The marriage could still go ahead. He just needed to set out some boundaries, which meant being polite and courteous, but making it clear that certain subjects, mainly those involving his feelings, weren’t up for discussion.

  He rested his arms on the leather desk-top and sank his head down. Too much. She knew too much, saw too much, too, with those clear green eyes that made him feel as if she could see into the deepest hiding places of his soul. And in a few short days he was going to marry her and bring her back here to spend the rest of their lives together. Then at some point in the future he’d bed her and hopefully beget an heir... He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. In a couple more hours he’d be seeing her again. Until then it was undoubtedly best to put his worries, not to mention the thought of bedding her, out of his mind.

  The latter task proved a great deal harder than he’d expected.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, no!’ Millie drew her head back in through the carriage window.

  ‘What is it, dear?’ Her mother leaned forward, craning her neck to peer outside. ‘Ah.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ George, sitting opposite, looked perplexed.

  ‘I believe they’re somewhat surprised by the size of the house.’ Alexandra patted his knee.

  ‘Somewhat?’ Millie was aware of her voice rising several octaves. ‘It’s the same size as our street!’

  ‘Yes, it’s certainly impressive.’ Alexandra nodded tranquilly. ‘I remember it being built fifty years ago. Of course I was only a child, but I’ve always thought it rather elegant. All those Doric columns and Palladian windows.’

  ‘But look at the size!’ Millie peered out of the window again, hoping the fresh air would do something to lower both her voice and her galloping heartbeat. Cassius hadn’t exaggerated the length of the drive either. It seemed endless, meandering through rolling, oak-filled parkland before descending into a shallow valley where a perfectly symmetrical, neo-classical style house stood a hundred yards back from a lake.

  ‘You’ll adapt, dear.’ Her mother seemed to have recovered her equilibrium. ‘You’ve always been able to rise to a challenge.’

  Millie glanced down at her outmoded plum-coloured muslin gown and closed her eyes in dismay. A challenge was one thing, but this was a bigger change than she could ever have imagined, for her and her whole way of life! Once she married Cassius, this would be her home. She’d be the Marchioness of Falconmore, a lady of rank and property, a member of the peerage, for goodness sake. She’d have responsibilities and duties, not just to society, but to all the
people who lived on the estate. More than that, she’d be expected to manage this house and all of its staff. It wasn’t simply a challenge. It was terrifying.

  But she’d given her promise and it was too late to change her mind...wasn’t it?

  ‘Here we are, dear.’ Her mother’s elbow nudged her subtly in the ribs as they rolled to a halt.

  With a start Millie opened her eyes, just in time to see Cassius’s blue ones appear at the window. They were really quite startlingly blue, she thought breathlessly, the brightest cobalt shade she’d ever seen. They seemed to have the power to make her heart jump, too. She’d almost forgotten how very handsome he was.

  ‘Lord and Lady Malverly, Mrs Fairclough, Miss Fairclough, I’m delighted you all could make it.’ He inclined his head politely, letting the steps down himself before holding a hand out towards her.

  She took it, her stomach swooping and then twisting nervously as his fingers closed around hers. They felt warm even through her glove, sending ripples of heat through her whole body, though the tightness of his grip felt incongruent somehow. His touch had always been gentle before, whereas now...now he seemed different. Sterner and harder, more serious, too, if the frown lines between his brows were any indication, as if he wasn’t as pleased to see them as his words suggested. As if he might be having second thoughts, too.

  Suddenly the challenge before her seemed even more terrifying.

  Now that she was out of the carriage, moreover, he appeared to have nothing further to say to her, waiting until the rest of her family had climbed out before gesturing towards the house. She swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his fingers were still wrapped around hers, then gave a start of surprise as she turned and saw the lady standing at the top of the front steps. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t noticed her before. It was that she was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman Millie had ever laid eyes on, with platinum-gold ringlets framing both sides of a heart-shaped face that was as perfectly symmetrical as the building behind her. To heighten the effect, she was flanked by two little girls, both of whom appeared to be miniature versions of herself. This, Millie realised with a sinking feeling, had to be the former Marquess’s widow, her predecessor. As if the house on its own hadn’t been intimidating enough!

  ‘This is Lady Falconmore.’ The lines between Cassius’s brows deepened even further as he introduced them. ‘Sylvia, you already know the Malverlys. This is Mrs Fairclough and my fiancée, Miss Amelia Fairclough.’

  ‘Miss Fairclough.’ If she wasn’t mistaken, the woman’s pupils actually contracted.

  ‘Lady Falconmore.’ Briefly, Millie thought about offering a hand and then gave a small curtsy instead. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. And these must be your daughters. It’s a pleasure to meet you both, too.’ She smiled down at the two girls, though they only stared impassively back.

  ‘Their names are Isolde and Hermione.’ Sylvia’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Now shall we go inside? It’s cold.’

  Millie glanced nervously at Cassius, wondering if she’d said or done something wrong, but his face was set like stone, giving nothing away. Was he upset with her? That didn’t seem fair, although if he were having second thoughts then perhaps he wasn’t feeling particularly fair. She felt as if her stomach were actually tying itself in knots, dread turning to dismay. She hadn’t expected the situation to be easy, but this forbidding man was nothing at all like the one she’d met in the gatehouse or the one who’d proposed two days ago either. He was as cold and reserved as a stranger, no doubt thinking that she didn’t belong in a place like this, or next to a woman like that either.

  The front door opened as if by magic, letting them into a vast, marble-floored hallway. The walls were divided into panels, pale blue paint interspersed with white plasterwork displaying elegant motifs of birds and dolphins, though what the two were doing together was, in Millie’s opinion, somewhat baffling. There was a large, curved staircase to one side and, as she tilted her head back to look up, a domed skylight above, bathing them in sunshine. It was all perfectly beautiful and perfectly overwhelming. How could she ever live in a place like this? She felt like an impostor just visiting.

  ‘Girls, you may go to the nursery.’ Sylvia waved a hand dismissively, sweeping on through an archway to the left without so much as a glance back over her shoulder. ‘Tea will be served in the drawing room.’

  From within there came the sound of a bell ringing so violently that the rest of them barely had time to remove their outer garments before two maids arrived carrying trays laden with cups, cakes and a silver tea urn.

  Millie faltered on the threshold of what appeared to be the drawing room, yet in contrast to the stark elegance of the hall there was almost too much here for the eye to take in, not just in terms of furnishings, but in the range of colours, too. Assorted porcelain vases arranged on small gilded tables were set off by turquoise walls, a red-and-gold patterned carpet, crimson-velvet curtains and an almost painfully bright display of citron-yellow furniture, every piece of which appeared to be fringed with tassels. Even the ceiling was painted, divided into red-and-yellow triangles that reminded her of a circus she’d once visited with Silas.

  ‘Will you take a seat, Miss Fairclough?’ Cassius led her across to the least gaudy-looking sofa, bowing courteously though he didn’t join her, waiting until everyone else was settled before taking up a sentinel position beside the fireplace.

  ‘Thank you.’ She threw a surreptitious glance towards her mother and Alexandra. Judging by their somewhat strained expressions, she wasn’t the only one taken aback by the decor.

  ‘Do you mind if I pour, Miss Fairclough?’ Sylvia reached for the tea urn before she’d finished asking the question. ‘Since this will probably be my last opportunity as mistress of Falconmore Hall.’

  ‘Sylvia.’ Cassius’s voice was barely a murmur though the note of warning was obvious.

  ‘But it’s only the truth! I am being replaced, aren’t I?’ Sylvia sighed dramatically and then peered up through her lashes at the only other man in the room. ‘Can you imagine it, Lord Malverly? I’ll be the Dowager Marchioness from now on. Do I look like a dowager to you?’

  ‘Eh? What? No, not a bit of it.’

  ‘How sweet of you to say so.’ She passed him a teacup with a smile. ‘It’s just so hard to accept that one’s life is over at five and twenty.’

  ‘This is such a charming house, Lord Falconmore,’ Alexandra interceded tactfully. ‘We’ve had the pleasure of attending several balls here over the years.’

  ‘While my poor Magnus was alive, you mean?’ Sylvia’s head spun towards her.

  ‘Ye—es. I’m so sorry for your loss. It was such a terrible tragedy.’

  ‘It was, but he was always reckless. I told him not to jump that fence any number of times, but he wouldn’t listen. He always laughed and told me not to worry as if it were all a big joke.’ A look of anger flitted across Sylvia’s face. ‘That’s a painting of him above the fireplace, Miss Fairclough. Wasn’t he handsome?’

  ‘Very.’ Millie looked up at the portrait in surprise. There had been so much to look at when they’d first come in that she hadn’t noticed it before, but if she had, she would have assumed it to be one of Cassius. The resemblance between the two cousins was remarkable.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Sylvia sounded smug. ‘They could have been twins, couldn’t they? You know, sometimes I look at Cassius and I almost forget...’ She put a hand to her lips. ‘But perhaps I shouldn’t say so.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ This time Cassius’s voice was significantly more than a murmur, succeeded by an awkward silence that seemed to fill the whole room.

  Millie looked between the pair with an even greater sense of misgiving. There was something decidedly possessive about the other woman’s behaviour, almost as if she were jealous. Her own mind baulked at the idea, but it made sense in a way.
Sylvia and Cassius had been living together under the same roof for a year, after all, and no doubt he’d comforted her after his cousin’s death. It would only be natural if Sylvia had started to think of him as her friend and protector, her next husband even. That would explain the air of palpable tension between them, not to mention Sylvia’s obvious hostility towards her... In which case, perhaps it explained Cassius’s cold demeanour towards her, too? She pressed a hand to her stomach as it plummeted abruptly. What if there had been something more than friendship between them already, some kind of understanding even, before she’d turned up on his doorstep in the snow and ruined everything? What if he was in love with Sylvia yet honour-bound to her? What if they both resented her for trapping him?

  A loud snore finally broke the silence. Millie glanced towards it, belatedly noticing an old lady dozing in an armchair.

  ‘My aunt, Mrs Moore,’ Sylvia explained with a pout. ‘But don’t worry. Nothing wakes her when she’s napping.’

  ‘What a very colourful room this is.’ Millie’s mother spoke up this time. ‘Did you decorate it yourself, Lady Falconmore?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I decorated several rooms when I first came here after my marriage. It was quite exhausting, but then I expected to be here for a long time, the rest of my life probably. I certainly never imagined being usurped and banished to the Dower House after just seven years.’

  ‘Miss Fairclough.’ Cassius put his teacup down with a clatter on the mantelpiece. ‘Perhaps you’ll permit me to show you the rest of the house?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ Millie sprang to her feet, deciding on the lesser of two evils as she made her way quickly past Sylvia, not even waiting for her mother’s permission before rushing out into the hallway.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I apologise.’ Cassius’s eyes were like shards of ice as they stood facing each other in the hallway. ‘That wasn’t the welcome I’d hoped for.’