The Major and the Pickpocket

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘God’s teeth,’ said Tassie, ‘did you hit the blackguard, Marcus? I vow, I would have done.’

  ‘Bloodthirsty wench.’ Marcus grinned. ‘Only when he was stupid enough to try to draw a sword on me. Then I hit him twice. Once, for my godfather Roderick. And once, my darling, for you.’ He drew her close into his arms, and Hal and Caro together slipped quietly from the room.

  Tassie shivered in his arms, still unable to forget her fear last night, for Marcus. ‘Oh, I am so very glad that justice has been done! But what will Sebastian do now?’

  Marcus laughed shortly. ‘I suggested to him that—after returning the paintings, of course—he considers moving for a while to the country, to lie low and sort out his creditors.’

  ‘The country? I hope you didn’t direct him to Gloucestershire,’ exclaimed Tassie in horror.

  ‘Not Gloucestershire,’ said Marcus tenderly, ‘not anywhere near Gloucestershire, because that, my sweet, is where you and I are going to live, as soon as we are married. We will live at Lornings with my godfather, and help him get the place to rights, and you can rove the countryside to your heart’s content, galloping across the hills and rescuing lambs and teaching Roderick all your card tricks until he’s as unbeatable as you.’

  As the look on her face, of surprise, and happiness, and sheer heart-warming love, filled his heart, Marcus drew her with him to sit on the brocade couch before the fireplace and kissed her with a slow, deep tenderness that expressed all his feelings, and more. Tassie pulled herself away at last and gazed at him earnestly. ‘I will try to be a lady for you, Marcus,’ she vowed. ‘I will truly try to behave properly, and speak correctly, and be everything you desire.’

  Marcus held her more tightly. ‘You already are everything I desire,’ he said. ‘And that is why I wanted to ask you to marry me, to obtain your consent, before I tell you my final piece of news.’

  Something in his voice made her suddenly tense. ‘What is it, Marcus? It cannot be bad news, surely?’

  ‘No, no, there is nothing to worry about. But you must be told, Tassie, for it concerns the place where you spent your unhappy childhood.’

  She turned to him, her eyes grave. ‘Perhaps the past should be left in peace, Marcus. It was my intention, once our bargain was concluded, to find out the truth, but I have since found out that the house is locked up and empty, which is maybe where I should leave my story.’

  ‘But what if the story is not finished yet?’ Marcus took both her hands in his. ‘Please, Tassie. Tell me what you remember.’

  Tassie drew a deep breath. ‘I was brought up in a big, desolate house in Oxfordshire, called—Wychwood. Yes, I know—it is little more than twenty miles from Lornings. My guardians there were a man called William Norris and his spinster sister, who kept house for him. She also gave me my lessons, and locked me in my room if I did not please her.’ Marcus was holding her hand, stroking it. ‘Marcus, I tried to put that time behind me, but I could not forget their coldness and cruelty to me. Why was I in their care? Who were my parents? I was sure that I was once deeply loved; I wanted to find out the answer. I thought that, once I had your fifty guineas, Marcus, I could visit my old home, and pay clever people to uncover the truth; but it’s too late. Georgie Jay made enquiries for me; he found that the Norrises are dead. The old house is locked up. There is no more to discover.’

  Marcus held her steadily in his arms. ‘Let me tell you a story now, Tassie. Once, there was a young, wellborn man—let us call him Stephen—who was spoken of by those who knew him as brave, intelligent and kind. Because his older brother—far less worthy—inherited the family estate, Stephen left England to take up employment as an agent of the East India Company. Out there he prospered, and married a well-bred English girl who bore him a beloved baby daughter, and his happiness must have been complete.

  ‘But then a cruel tropical fever carried off Stephen Norris and his wife, and many of those amongst whom they lived. In the confusion, their baby daughter was carried back to England by a well-meaning missionary. Armed with the scantiest of information, he tracked down the infant girl’s nearest relative, her father’s brother, and to him he delivered the poor orphan child—whose name was Theresa.’

  He felt Tassie tremble. He touched her cheek, and went on, in a quiet voice, ‘You, of course, were Theresa. William Norris was your father’s brother; and having heard, you see, of the fortune Stephen had made in India, your uncle was determined to claim it for himself. Meanwhile he kept you in isolation, afraid that if your existence was known, Stephen’s money might be taken from him. Only William and his sister knew the full truth of your story.’

  Tassie was very pale. ‘Marcus. I know you have already told me of your love, so I should not really ask this question. But will it not trouble you, to be married to someone with such an unhappy past?’

  He kissed her with the utmost tenderness. ‘My darling, I would have asked you to marry me even if you turned out to be some starving tinker’s brat. My own past was far from orthodox; it was Sir Roderick, who helped me through, just as Georgie Jay was your protector. Besides, we know now that your father was honourable and brave, nothing like his brother William, while your mother was of gentle birth, and much loved; we can find out more, if you wish, when you are ready.’ He touched her cheek gently, tracing the delicate curve, caressing her soft skin. ‘Oh, Tassie. I love you for what you are, and not who you are. In fact, I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you charging up those stairs in Hal’s greatcoat, calling out to that screeching parrot.’

  She laughed a little shakily, then got to her feet and walked round the room, to steady herself, because there was so much to take in. Marcus watched her coming to terms with it all, the tenderness and concern shining from his eyes.

  ‘There’s something else, Tassie,’ he said quietly. ‘As you know, your uncle is now dead, his sister also. You are the sole heir to the Wychwood estate. No other possible claimants have been traced.’

  It is often in the past that your future lies…

  She turned round slowly. ‘So—it is all mine?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘There is your own father’s money, which your uncle appropriated, and then there is the Wychwood estate. The matter rests with you.’

  He watched her, anxious that all this might cause her fresh distress. It was with the utmost gladness that at last he saw the familiar mischief return to her eyes. ‘Do you know, Marcus,’ she breathed, ‘it has just occurred to me that you might be nothing but a dratted fortune hunter!’

  He pretended to consider this. ‘True. Here I am, snatching you away from the delights of London society, when you could have used your charms and your screeching parrot to ensnare the likes of my cousin Sebastian, or Viscount Piggy Lindsay, who, I believe, is also looking for a wealthy bride.’

  She made as if to hit him. ‘Wretch!’ But he caught her arms, and pulled her to him, and kissed her with such passion that Tassie closed her eyes with happiness.

  At last he let her go, though he still held her tightly, and Tassie rested her cheek contentedly on his strong shoulder. But then he felt her stir again, and she looked up at him with some agitation. ‘Marcus. There is something else, a matter of some importance, that must be settled before I can finally consent to be your wife.’

  He looked anxious. ‘What?’

  She dimpled up at him in the old, familiar way. ‘If we are really to be married,’ she said, ‘then you must know that I cannot be parted from my screeching parrot.’

  Marcus laughed. ‘What a price to pay! Very well. If I must, I will even put up with Edward. If, that is, he will put up with me.’

  Her face shone with relief. ‘I will teach him to like you, Marcus! He was only ever hateful to you because he thought you arrogant, and pitiless, and rude.’

  ‘As you did?’ he teased.

  ‘Well, as I did, but only for a very, very little while,’ admitted Tassie truthfully. ‘And then, you see, I began to love you quite desperately
. But, of course, you know all about that.‘

  Marcus was holding her close, letting his fingers trail up and down her back in a way that she found quite distractingly delicious. ‘No, I don’t think I do,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me about it, will you, minx? Or, better still—show me.’

  And Tassie, nestling into his strong arms and lifting her face for his kiss, gladly did so.

  The September sun stole through the bedroom curtains, warming her, and chiding her for lying in bed so late. Tassie got up quickly, pushing her curls back from her face, seeing instantly the posy of heavily scented crimson roses that her husband had left for her on the little bedside table.

  Her husband. Marcus. Tassie held the rose blooms gently against her cheek, letting her eyes roam over the empty bed, the bed where Marcus held her every night, and filled the darkness with such tenderness, such passion, that she felt quite dizzy with love. Smiling secretly to herself, she put the roses down, then slipped on her silk wrap and went to pull back the curtains and gaze out over the sunlit autumn beauty of Lornings.

  They’d been married in June, quietly, in the little church at Hockton, with Sir Roderick, Caro and Hal, and Jacob and Peg all there to witness their happiness. With the lifting of the burden of his debts, Sir Roderick was longing to move back into his true home; but only, he said, as he held Marcus and Tassie’s hands close in his own, if they would make Lornings Hall their home, too. ‘For it will all be yours one day,’ he said to them.

  And now the beautiful old house was slowly being restored to life. The paintings Sebastian had stolen had been retrieved and put back in their rightful place; and with the sale of her Wychwood inheritance, Tassie felt free to indulge her own passions: horses for the stables, furnishings for the rooms she and Marcus occupied, the replanting of the gardens that surrounded the Hall. Marcus appointed a steward, a good local man, to put the estate to rights; Peg insisted that if she couldn’t be Miss Tassie’s personal maid there was no justice in this world; Jacob was butler, and more servants were hired to tend the Hall and bring it to life again. There were neighbours to visit, and new friends to entertain, although they did not see anything of the Fawcetts, who stayed in town and busied themselves in finding more rich suitors for Philippa.

  Tassie was shy at first of her new role, but with Marcus’s constant reassurance, and Caro and Hal’s frequent visits to the lovely old house, she felt herself blossoming, and was soon in fact causing something of a stir in upper-class circles. More than one fine lady was heard making enquiries about obtaining a talking parrot, and Tassie’s skill at cards was much admired; though in their after-supper rubbers of whist, she refused to partner anyone other than Sir Roderick.

  Georgie Jay and his band had called again in the summer, and helped with the haymaking. Marcus had taken Georgie Jay to one side during the outdoor feast that followed the completion of the work, and asked him if he and his men would stay on. Georgie Jay had refused, but his dark eyes lingered on Tassie’s happy face as she presided over the table that groaned with food for all the helpers, and he’d said, ‘Be sure that we’ll be back whenever you should need us, sir. It’s good to see the lass looking so content.’

  Now Tassie turned quickly from the window as the door opened and her husband came in. Marcus looked well. His leg had all but healed; his face was brown from the country air, his body fit and strong from the outdoor activities associated with getting the big estate running again. He laughed as he saw Tassie standing there still in her nightrobe, and he pulled her to him, letting his lips touch the top of her gleaming hair.

  ‘Well, minx,’ he said softly. ‘You’re taking well to the life of a fine lady. Becoming a slugabed now, are you?’

  She held him close, feeling the play of warm, taut muscle beneath his shirt. She let her fingers rove up his back to his shoulders, and lifted her face to his. ‘Darling Marcus,’ she teased softly. ‘If you would allow me to sleep as I should at night, then perhaps I would rise earlier.’

  He kissed her, holding her very close. When he let her go, his eyes were warm with passion. ‘Complaints, my love?’ he murmured. ‘So early in our marriage?’

  ‘No,’ she breathed, ‘oh, no,’ and her heart was full as she saw the contentment in his smile.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Peg came bustling in, carrying on a tray a plate heaped with buttered toast and a brimming cup of chocolate; she gave a quick little curtsy and left. Marcus looked at the full plate, a little puzzled, and said, ‘Well. There is enough for two there. What is Peg thinking of?’

  ‘Peg is starting to spoil me,’ said Tassie quickly. ‘I will be down shortly, Marcus.’

  He nodded, and made his way towards the door, only to stop again. ‘Farmer Daniels has sent over to Hockton for two draught horses for the autumn ploughing, Tassie! They should be arriving later this morning. You’ll come and inspect them with me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Satisfied, he strode from the room, and she went to sit down at the little table by the window where Peg had left the tray that was laden with food enough for two.

  Tassie folded her hands lightly across her lap, smiling to herself. Old Peg, it seemed, had guessed her secret already.

  Later this morning, she would tell Marcus her news.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

  First published in Great Britain 2009

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Lucy Ashford 2010

  ISBN: 978-1-4089-1618-6

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Praise

  Excerpt

  Author The Author

  Author Note

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright