The Marquess’s Hand_A Regency Romance Novel

by Rosie Wynter

  “I must say, you are something of a wonder to all the women of London. I cannot tell you how many of us have, at some point or another, fluttered our eyes at the Marquess. He does have an intoxicating quality, would you not agree?”

  Rosalie blushed and looked down into her teacup. She did not know why she was being so demure. As Lord Wareham’s fiancée, she, of all people, should have been able to admit to her feelings for the man.

  “Yes, he does. I must confess that I did not even realise the full extent of it until I was already courting him.”

  Mrs Porter appeared to be looking off into the distance, her eyes glazed over, suggesting that she was reflecting on some past memory of her own. “It was the cleverest ruse to come courting in London during the summer. To think that all it would take to ensnare Lord Wareham’s heart was nothing greater or more special than striking for him when there was no other competition to distract him.”

  Rosalie tried not to be insulted by Mrs Porter’s words but felt very definitely the implication that she had won Lord Wareham’s heart through trickery and not through any powers of her own personality. “Should I assume, Mrs Porter, that you yourself cast your eye on my fiancé in times past?”

  “Oh yes, indeed!” The lady didn’t even try to hide her feelings on the matter, treating the issue as nothing at all. However, she did seem to note the uncomfortable expression on Rosalie’s face and immediately put out a hand to reassure her. “Ah, you must not worry, my dear. I do not hold your engagement against you, though I shall likely always be a little envious of your achievement in conquering the man’s heart. I am afraid you will be hard pressed to make any friends in the city who did not at one time or another harbour a liking for the Marquess.”

  Rosalie nodded and took another sip of her tea. A question was forming in her mind, one she almost did not wish to ask but could not help herself from doing so. “I hope you will not think me impertinent for asking this, but what was your relationship like with the Marquess when you held out a hope for his hand?”

  At this, Mrs Porter let out a wistful sigh. It was clear that the memory passing through her mind at that moment was still very precious to her. She spoke almost dreamily, not even registering Rosalie’s presence as she spoke into the distance. “The man was wonderful to me when I first came up to London for the season. I was a bag of nerves and fretful worries and found it hard to gain the attention of any man in the gatherings and parties I was sent to by my parents. Lord Wareham, however, noticed me in spite of my great shyness and took the time to talk with me and build my confidence. He was the most attentive man I had ever met. In his company, I could swear I found myself an entirely new woman. I was able to say things to him that I’d never dreamed of saying to any man before.” She paused for a moment and blushed as she looked at Rosalie. “Forgive me, I am not sure it is polite for me to be saying these things to you, of all people.”

  Rosalie took Mrs Porter’s hand in an attempt to reassure her. Really, she did not want to hear any of the woman’s admission at all, but something told her that she needed to know fully the man she was marrying. “Please, Mrs Porter, you do not need to worry about any form of reprisal from me. After all, it was I who asked you the question in the first place, and I would be most grateful to you if you could answer fully. I assure you I will not think worse of you for it.”

  Mrs Porter glanced in the direction of her husband, who was currently in conversation with their host. Seeing that he was not paying them any attention seemed to help the woman summon up her courage, and she continued to speak in a low whisper. “The way I would talk with Lord Wareham, it was almost as though we were already lovers. In private conversation, we would exchange many teasing and flirtatious comments that I am certain would have worried my mother and father were they to have heard them. At no other time have I ever shared such words with anyone, not even with my husband. Mr Porter is a lovely man, but our courtship was far more traditional and far less exciting than those moments I shared with Wareham.”

  Rosalie was troubled by what she was hearing. Mrs Porter’s tale appeared to be almost a mirror of her own: a young, impressionable girl from the country enamoured by the sudden and unlooked-for attentions of a man as handsome and prestigious as the Marquess. Even more unsettling was the way in which she and Mrs Porter had been encouraged to act and speak with the man in a manner that would not normally be their own. Indeed, when Rosalie examined the way she had been talking and flirting with the Marquess, it reminded her greatly of her sister’s relationship with the stable boy. Rosalie remembered now, with perfect clarity, the way she had admonished Grace for being too forward and familiar with a boy to whom she was not engaged. And yet, Rosalie reflected, she had behaved just as poorly as her sister and betrayed her own nature in some measure. “It sounds to me as though you should have gained Lord Wareham’s proposal. What came between you both in the end? How come you are not Lady Wareham?”

  The memory Mrs Porter was sharing was beginning to have a profound effect on her. Her body was starting to tremble, and her eyes were glistening with tears. Rosalie felt bad for forcing the woman to revisit memories that clearly caused her pain, but she had to hear the whole story. “Please try to answer,” she begged. “I need to know fully the man I have promised to marry.”

  Mrs Porter nodded and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Despite coming into the conversation with a somewhat poor impression of Mrs Porter, Rosalie was thankful for her honesty and willingness to address her questions. “The last time I saw the Marquess, properly, was at a soiree held by the Earl of Wessex. I remember Wareham danced with me twice that night. I hoped that gesture was a sign that he was close to offering his proposal to me. As the hour grew late, the Marquess found occasion to spirit me out of the grand hall and into the gardens. There was no one about, and we were able to speak in the usual and tender manner I had become so accustomed to. He did not make a proposal there and then, as I had hoped, but we actually shared a kiss, indeed, more than one. It was in the middle of a maze of hedges. I had let myself be totally swept away by that moment, and, although I received no proposal that night, I assured myself that the Marquess would call on my home soon and that we would be together.”

  Rosalie struggled to accept what she was hearing. Her own emotions were getting the better of her, and she knew it could only be a matter of moments now before someone noticed the unhappy faces of herself and Mrs Porter.

  By now, though, Mrs Porter seemed in no further need of coaxing to divulge her story. Rosalie guessed that being able to speak of it might have offered the woman some kind of relief from a burden and memory she had long been holding within herself. “It was three days before I heard anything from Lord Wareham. He wrote me a simple letter informing me that he had been unexpectedly summoned back to the country in order to assist his father with a matter of urgent business. He expressed his regret that he would not be able to see me again during the London season and suggested that the chances of our meeting again were slim, particularly when I returned to the country. He told me that I was a very dear person to him, but he did not wish to see me wasting my chances of gaining a good husband by waiting for his return. He encouraged me to be bold and put my best foot forward.”

  “And you simply accepted that ending to your romance?” Rosalie asked, somewhat aghast.

  Mrs Porter seemed to find some new resolve as she looked to Rosalie bitterly. “It was my only stay in London. I did not have the happy circumstance of a well-connected aunt who could keep me in the city all year, and I could not have asked my parents to grant me more time in London. Once Lord Wareham was gone, that was it. I had to make my time in London worth something. I used everything I had learned from my time with the Marquess to aid me. I very quickly began to court Mr Porter, a romance that I will admit did not hold the same intensity as I shared with Lord Wareham. Still, my husband is a good man, and I have never had cause to regret accepting him as my husband.”

  As Mrs Porter r
ounded off her story, she now regarded Rosalie with greater curiosity, her voice quietened to a whisper. “Just what are you asking all these questions for? You have been lucky to secure Wareham’s heart. If I were you, I would not concern yourself with his past and just consider yourself most fortunate to have won him. Or, could it be you enjoy hearing how other women before you failed to win the man’s heart?” With that, Mrs Porter stood abruptly and walked purposefully across the room to her husband’s side.

  At that moment, Lady Lynch looked across to Rosalie, a concerned expression on her face. Rosalie wondered if her aunt knew of Mrs Porter’s previous romance with Lord Wareham. Aunt Lynch prided herself on knowing all the gossip that passed through London society, after all. Still, there were more important things to think on than the breadth of her aunt’s knowledge. Her conversation with Mrs Porter had opened up more concerning questions: was this the only occasion Lord Wareham had toyed with a young girl’s heart? And, of all the women he could possibly have chosen to marry, why did he so suddenly choose her?

  CHAPTER 21

  Rosalie did not share her concerns about Lord Wareham with her aunt. Mrs Porter had not, in the strictest sense, told her story regarding the Marquess in confidence, but Rosalie could guess the woman would not want the matter to come out. More importantly, though, Rosalie had the distinct feeling that Lady Lynch would shrug off the matter, even were she to have been told of it. Rosalie had learned well enough now that her aunt did not truly care for the actions of any person in London, so long as it did not come to the public attention and harm their prospects. So what if the Marquess had toyed with the hearts of other women before meeting Rosalie? Lady Lynch would say nothing truly wrong had been done. On top of this, there was one last matter that seemed to stand in Lord Wareham’s favour. It was the only factor currently keeping Rosalie from speaking out her concerns. For some reason, Lord Wareham had chosen to propose to her. She had no idea why he had chosen to do so, nor why he had made the decision so quickly. There had to be something about her that made her stand apart from the women he had flirted and toyed with in his past, and there was no denying that this meant something to Rosalie. She was not as eager to marry the man, now she had spoken with Mrs Porter, but she was not yet prepared to give up her engagement to Lord Wareham.

  Of course, not saying a word of her concerns or fears meant that the arrangements for her engagement and wedding were coming on at a pace. Lady Lynch had already written to Mr and Mrs Curtis, taking great pleasure in announcing her success in partnering her niece to so eligible a bachelor as Lord Wareham. Rosalie could well imagine the delight her father felt on reading the news, which must have been met with equal disappointment by her mother. Mrs Curtis surely would be feeling inferior to her sister now, not that she needed more reasons to do so. It was understood that the whole of her family would be looking to engage transportation to London as soon as they had wrapped up their affairs and business in Bradford. Once they reached London, they would all be meeting with the Marquess and then travelling as a group to his country estate to meet with his father.

  Despite a week having passed since their engagement was announced, Rosalie still found her fiancé difficult to pin down. She had not had any time to speak to him discreetly on the matters shared with her by Mrs Porter, something she felt very strongly had to be addressed before she could walk down the aisle with him. She was not exactly keen to address her concerns with the man, but she also felt that talking with him would help to bring her some peace of mind. Knowing Wareham to be a more than competent speaker, Rosalie was certain he would be able to placate her fears and concerns about his past should she bring the issue to him.

  As it was, the Marquess continued to claim he was overrun with business, which kept him from calling for more than an hour or so at a time. Such brief visits were not conducive to heartfelt and delicate conversations, and so Rosalie found no good opportunity to take him aside and tactfully ask him about the matters that troubled her. If he had noticed any change in her manner, he did not see fit to address it with her, and so Rosalie was left to deal with her concerns in silence.

  Without even meaning to, Rosalie found herself walking towards Hyde Park, retracing the steps she had taken on her very first walk in London. At first, she was not even aware that she was doing so. It was only as she strayed to Hyde Park Corner that she was overcome by the memory of little Abigail excitedly waiting with her father to show her the city. She sighed at the memory: a happier time, a time of innocence before she had been made to see the corruption, intrigue and manipulations that seemed to run through London like the great River Thames.

  As her thoughts leaned further into thoughts of Mr Farrell and his daughter, Rosalie felt a curious desire to turn about and travel back through Grosvenor Square towards Harley Street and the gentleman’s home. Only one thing stopped her from making that change of course. She did not really care that she had promised her aunt she would sever all contact with the man; what really concerned her was the threat of being seen. Rosalie had learned just how easy it was to be spied on by unwanted eyes, from her previous excursion to the gentleman’s home. Were she to be observed visiting Mr Farrell’s residence now, Rosalie knew it would likely cause outrage in her aunt’s circle.

  The thought of seeing him had now been put into her head though, and Rosalie found it next to impossible to silence that part of her that urged her feet to move in the general direction of Mr Farrell’s home.

  Unable to stop herself, unwilling even to do so, Rosalie devoted her attention to thinking of ways in which her calling on Mr Farrell might be permissible. Surely, in an exceptional circumstance, she could manufacture a just cause to visit him. There was also the possibility of conveniently running into the man on the street. Mr Farrell, though a social pariah, had never shown any inclination toward hiding himself away. It was perfectly possible that she could manufacture an accidental encounter with the man if she lingered near to his home and was prepared to keep a patient vigil.

  Rosalie surprised herself with her willingness to engage with the venture she was planning. It was by far the riskiest thing she had ever done in her life and threatened to jeopardise her engagement and good standing among the fine people of the city. However, with her feelings towards the upper classes of the city dimming with each passing day, Rosalie found the risks oddly acceptable. This, in itself, was confusing and disappointing for her, as she reflected that she was, at that moment, happy to gamble away her happiness with Lord Wareham just to see Mr Farrell for a few moments. Why she wanted, needed, this meeting so badly, Rosalie couldn’t even say.

  Rather than risk crossing Grosvenor Square, where her movements were most at risk of being noted, Rosalie took a long and winding path to Harley Street, avoiding the most affluent streets where she could. She did not know just how she would find it possible to linger on the street for any length of time without arousing curiosity, but she determined to face that problem when it came. As luck would have it, the sight of wild blonde curls bobbing down the street in a series of skips provided Rosalie with the opportunity she had prayed for.

  “Abigail?” Rosalie called out rather loudly to the retreating form. She looked up and down the street to check that no one had noticed her cry out. As far as she could tell, no one seemed to care, save for the child up ahead who turned around inquisitively.

  “Rosalie!” With enthusiasm in her voice and a joyful smile on her face, Abigail Farrell ran down the street at full speed, opening her arms wide as she ran into Rosalie.

  The force of the impact actually winded her a little, and Rosalie had to take a breath as the child clung to her, burying her head in the folds of her dress. “Abigail?” She repeated the child’s name questioningly. Though it was clear the child was glad to see her, something in her manner seemed awkward and strange. It was hard to put into words, but Abigail seemed almost too glad to see her, too intense. “Gracious, is everything alright?” Once again, Rosalie looked anxiously about as she rubbed
the girl’s back soothingly.

  “I... I’m just so glad to see you!” was all Abigail would say at first. Her speech was broken with intermittent sobs. “Father told me I was not allowed to call on you and that you wouldn’t be coming back to visit us in future.”

  Rosalie sucked in a breath.

  Of course, Mr Farrell would have had to explain things to Abigail after she had written to him last. She remembered vividly that last letter she had sent to his home, declaring her hopeful intentions towards Lord Wareham. She had been so certain of her course then, so sure that Wareham was the right choice for her.

  “I am sorry if I upset you, Abigail.” Rosalie ran her hand through the child’s hair, trying her best to calm her. “I promise it was nothing against you or your father.”

  Abigail looked up at Rosalie. Her green eyes were clouded over with salty tears that trickled down her cheek. She sniffed as she tried to stop her nose from running. “I know. You’re marrying a man, and he doesn’t want you spending any time with us.”

  Rosalie felt a pain in her chest as the little girl looked up at her. She felt almost guilty about what she was doing. “I… I am marrying a man. His name is Wareham. I am sure you would like him if you met him.” She had no idea why she said this. Perhaps she wanted simply to offer some excuse for why she had done what she had done.

  “I already don’t like him!” Abigail declared forcefully. “If he is telling you that you cannot be friends with me or my father, then I hate him the same as I do all the other people in the city.”

  Rosalie was dismayed. She had not seen this side of Abigail’s character before, thinking her only to be the sweet and kind young soul she had first met on King’s Road. It had not occurred to her that the child was old enough to see just how she and her father were treated and maligned by their neighbours. In her case, particularly, it was an injustice. Abigail could not help the circumstances of her birth, and she had done absolutely nothing to be shunned. “Maybe I should walk you back home.”