And Marcus prayed this time was no different.
“That’s his horse,” Reggie said under his breath.
“Then he’s still here.” Marcus studied the scene thoughtfully.
There was a carriage parked to the side of the house. The dower house had no stables of its own, but no horses for the vehicle were in evidence. Nor was Gwen’s horse to be seen, and Marcus was at once disappointed and relieved. Whatever was going on here, it would not involve a confrontation with his wife. At least not yet.
“Come on, then.” Marcus directed his horse to the yard and dismounted. Reggie followed suit, and the pair started toward the door.
On the ride from the hall. Marcus had decided the best way to approach this was with total innocence. He had a legitimate interest in the purchase of the house. It was only natural that he come to present his offer in person.
Without warning, the door opened. A tall, distinguished gentleman stepped out, his figure blocking the face of the woman behind him.
Reggie nudged Marcus. “Isn’t that the Duke of—”
“Indeed it is,” Marcus said softly. Was this the owner of the property? He drew a deep breath and stepped forward. “Good day, Your Grace.”
“Pennington? And Berkley.” The duke laughed ruefully. “I should have known I might run into you two in this part of the world.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “It seems, my dear, we have been found out.”
Marcus’s heart caught.
A vaguely familiar laugh sounded behind the duke, delightful and utterly feminine.
Madame de Chabot stepped into sight and extended her hand. “Lord Pennington, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Madame.” Relief choked Marcus’s voice. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise.” He turned to Reggie. “Lord Berkley, you remember Madame de Chabot? She is a dear friend of my wife’s.”
“Of course.” Reggie’s eyes widened with realization, and he grabbed her hand with unrestrained enthusiasm. “I could scarcely forget such a remarkably lovely creature.”
The duke cleared his throat, and Reggie dropped her hand at once.
She laughed. “I could never forget you either, my lord.”
“Pardon me, Madame,” Marcus said slowly, “but am I to understand you are residing here?”
“For the moment,” she said with an amused smile. “Although in truth I am no more than a guest.”
“I believe it’s past time for explanations, my dear. Lord Pennington deserves to know precisely what is afoot here,” the duke said firmly.
Madame’s gaze met the duke’s. “But it is not my secret to tell, mon chér.”
“Nonetheless, at this point you cannot leave him with the endless questions that he obviously has. And, as I believe Lord Berkley may well have been the gentleman I saw at a distance upon my arrival today”—he glanced at Reggie, who smiled weakly—“Lord Pennington’s questions can no longer wait.”
She lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug. “If you think it’s best.”
“I do. And, as those questions for the most part do not involve me, and the day grows late, I shall take my leave.” The duke took Madame’s hand and lifted it to his lips. His gaze never left hers, and a look of such intensity passed between them, Marcus was compelled to avert his eyes, as if he watched something deeply intimate between the couple. He glanced at Reggie, who stared unabashedly. Marcus jabbed him with his elbow, and Reggie cast him an annoyed glare.
“I would be most appreciative, gentlemen”—the duke directed his words to Marcus and Reggie—“if you would keep my presence here to yourselves. I would not wish to sully Madame de Chabot’s reputation with idle gossip.”
“I do not care, Edward,” she said fiercely, gazing up at him.
“But I do.” He smiled down at her, and Marcus knew without a doubt that these two were deeply in love.
He knew the duke’s circumstances, of course, no one in England didn’t. His Grace’s wife was insane and had been throughout the length of their marriage, a dozen years or so, Marcus thought. The rumor was, she was mad even before they wed and the duke was tricked into the marriage, but his honor would not permit divorce.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Marcus said. Reggie nodded his agreement.
“Thank you.” The duke cast a last lingering glance at Madame de Chabot, then mounted his horse and rode off.
She watched him for a long moment and sighed. Then she straightened her shoulders and cast Marcus a knowing smile. “You think your wife has betrayed you, no?”
“No, of course not,” Marcus said quickly, knowing full well she would not entirely believe him.
“I thought his wife had betrayed him.” Reggie grimaced.
“You?” She raised an amused brow. “But you are so charming, so lighthearted. I would not imagine you to be so suspicious.”
Reggie stared at the ground mournfully. “I was a fool.”
“Yes, you were.” She laughed. “But you are a man, and such things as foolishness cannot be completely avoided.”
“Madame.” Marcus stepped forward. “Both Lord Berkley and I have been guilty of reaching unsubstantiated conclusions. But I wish you to know I care a great deal about Miss Townsend, Gwen, and—”
“He’s in love with her,” Reggie said in a smug whisper.
“How delightful.” Madame de Chabot beamed.
“For the most part it is delightful.” Marcus shook his head. “However, it has also made me act in ways that are contrary to my nature. Indeed, there have been moments since I met her when I have found myself being, well, rather emotional and quite irrational.”
“That is indeed love, my lord.” She laughed, then sobered and considered him thoughtfully. “And with love comes acceptance of the one we care for, does it not?”
“I would think so,” Marcus said.
“Acceptance of those things that are not anticipated but accompany each of us nonetheless. Those little pieces of, oh what am I trying to say”—she searched for the right word—“life, as it were. Unresolved situations from our past or irrational feelings we have not yet come to grips with or something more substantial like, oh, family obligations.”
“Lady Pennington has no family. She’s an orphan,” Reggie pointed out.
Madame de Chabot heaved a sigh. “My dear Lord Berkley, you are indeed charming and I realize you are doing your best to be helpful, but perhaps, just for the moment, it would be best if you were to restrain from any further comment.”
Reggie bristled with indignation. “I was simply trying—”
“Quiet, Reggie,” Marcus said.
“Merci.” She cast Reggie a smile guaranteed to dissolve even the staunchest reserve. The duke was a very lucky man.
“Francesca,” she called through the open doorway. “We have visitors.”
“Madame Freneau is here too?” Marcus drew his brows together. Perhaps the duke didn’t own the house? Or he did but—
“Visitors?” Madame Freneau appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of Marcus. “Lord Pennington? What on earth are you doing here?”
“Precisely the question I was about to ask you,” Marcus said wryly.
“Madame Freneau.” Reggie stepped forward and took the lady’s hand. “It is indeed a pleasure to see you again.” Reggie raised her hand to his lips and murmured, “A very great pleasure.”
Marcus stared at his friend and realized he had seen that look on Reggie’s face before. And at the moment he could certainly understand it. Madame Freneau’s appearance and her demeanor were substantially more casual and relaxed than he’d seen before. Her fair hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her checks were flushed. Marcus had known she was younger than he, but the maturity of her bearing had always made her seem older. He’d never realized how lovely she was. And judging by Reggie’s reaction, he’d never realized it either.
She pulled her hand from Reggie’s and favored him with a smile every bit as intoxic
ating as her sister-in-law’s. “It is a pleasure to see you as well.”
“I’m certain we are all pleased to see everyone,” Marcus interrupted, “but I confess, I am thoroughly confused. Will someone please tell me what is going on here?”
“He is not at all pleasant when he’s confused,” Reggie said in a confidential aside to Madame Freneau.
“I can certainly see that.” Madame Freneau shook her head. “Still, it is not my secret to tell.”
Marcus ignored a rising sense of irritation. “I quite frankly no longer care whose secret it is. I want answers and I want them now!”
Neither woman seemed especially impressed by his demand. They exchanged glances, then Madame Freneau drew a deep breath. “Very well, my lord. This is not how I imagined this particular moment. Indeed, I had not planned to be present at all.”
“Nor had I.” Madame de Chabot shrugged. “In truth, Gwendolyn agreed not an hour ago that she would confess all to you tonight. I believe she said you are usually in very good spirits”—the Frenchwoman gazed up at him innocently—“right before bed.”
Reggie snickered. “No doubt.”
“Quiet,” Marcus snapped, then turned his attention back to the women. “Now then, ladies, if you please.”
“I suppose it can no longer be avoided,” Madame Freneau said with an air of resignation, her gaze slipping past him.
“Apparently not.” Madame de Chabot too looked at something behind him.
Marcus glared. “What are you—”
Reggie laughed. “Turn around, Marcus. You should see this.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” Marcus muttered and turned. “Good Lord.”
Three children, three girls, stood a scant few feet away and glared at him with all the defiant indignation of youth. They were of varying heights, with varying shades of red hair. Their appearance had the carefree dishevelment of a day spent in serious play out of doors. Indeed, the middle girl had a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
And each and every one bore a distinct resemblance to his wife.
“Who…” He stared in disbelief. “What…”
They stared right back. He amended his original assessment. It wasn’t merely youthful indignation on their faces: it was feminine indignation.
Reggie cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t someone say something?”
“Him first.” The smallest pointed at Marcus.
“Who are you?” Marcus blurted.
“Marcus. Where are your manners?” Reggie rolled his gaze toward the sky. “That’s not at all the way to greet three obviously accomplished young ladies.” He stepped toward the children. “Allow me to introduce myself and my rather impolite friend. I am Viscount Berkley and this is the Earl of Pennington.” Reggie swept a polished bow. “And you?”
The girls studied him suspiciously, then looked at one another and nodded. The tallest and obviously oldest stepped forward. “These are my sisters, Miss Patience Loring”—the girl with the smudge curtsied—“and Miss Hope Loring.” The youngest bobbed. “I am Miss Charity Loring.” The girl extended her hand. Reggie took it without hesitation and raised it to his lips.
“I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Loring,” Reggie said in very much the same tone he’d used with Madame Freneau.
The girl’s eyes widened and an expression of awe crossed her face.
“Are you pleased to meet me as well?” The next child in line, Patience, thrust out her hand.
“Indeed I am.” Reggie’s voice was serious. He took her hand, brushed a light kiss across it, then turned to the youngest.
“Oh, I don’t want you to kiss my hand.” The little girl firmly put her hand behind her back. Her tone was lofty. “A woman who is free with her favors will always come to no good.”
One of the ladies behind Marcus coughed or perhaps choked.
Marcus bit back a grin and stepped forward. “Well done. You’re absolutely right.” He bent down in front of the youngest, Hope. “Now that we have been properly introduced, perhaps you could help me with a bit of a problem. I know your names but”—he lowered his voice in a confidential manner—“I don’t know who you are. And I suspect that’s very important, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps.” The child studied him carefully. “Do you like dogs?”
“Dogs?” It wasn’t exactly what he expected. “Why, yes, I do like dogs.”
“And do you like girls?” she continued.
“Indeed I do,” he said somberly. “You may ask anyone if you don’t believe me.”
“I can vouch for that.” Reggie grinned. “He’s always been exceedingly fond of ladies.”
“I don’t mean ladies.” Hope cast Reggie a look of definite reproof. “I mean little girls. Children. Daughters.”
“Absolutely.” Marcus nodded. “I was just saying today that I should hope to have a very large family with a great number of daughters, little girls to run around my home.”
“Really?” She stared at him with all the intensity of her young years.
“Really,” he said firmly.
“Aunt Gwendolyn didn’t think you would,” Charity broke in.
Marcus stood. “Aunt Gwendolyn?” His gaze met Madame Freneau’s. “Aunt Gwendolyn?”
“They are her sister’s children,” Madame said.
He drew his brows together. “The one eaten by cannibals?”
Patience snorted. “We just told her that.”
“They really drowned,” Hope said with a heartfelt sigh.
“I am sorry,” he murmured.
“Aunt Gwen was afraid you wouldn’t want us. And she didn’t want us to live anyplace where we were not wanted,” Patience added. “It was very nice of her. We haven’t liked her very much but she is rather nice.”
Hope tugged at his sleeve, leaned close, and lowered her voice. “We do like her a bit more now. But I don’t think anyone liked her, or wanted her, when she was a girl.”
“It’s really rather sad when you think about it,” Charity said with a thoughtful frown. “Do you want her?”
“Very much so.” Marcus had never said truer words in his life.
Hope narrowed her eyes. “And do you want us?”
Marcus’s gaze slipped from one girl to the next, and they seemed to hold a collective breath. At once he realized he was getting a glimpse of the future. His daughters would look a great deal like…his nieces.
He nodded and then grinned. “Very much so.”
“You’ll have to swear to it,” Patience said firmly.
Hope grinned. “With blood.”
Reggie choked back a laugh.
“We’ll be inside if you need us,” Madame Freneau said with a smile. A moment later the ladies had disappeared into the house.
Marcus raised a brow. “Blood?”
“Nothing else will do.” Charity watched him carefully, and Marcus knew this was a test.
“Absolutely. What was I thinking?” Marcus grabbed Reggie and pulled him to his side. “And I know Lord Berkley will want to participate as well. We are as close as brothers. Closer even. Why, you can call him Uncle Reggie.”
Reggie groaned. “Uncle Reggie?”
“Would you prefer Reginald?” Marcus said under his breath.
“Uncle Reggie it is.” Reggie’s tone was less than enthusiastic. “But I’m not overly fond of blood. Especially my own.”
Hope planted her hands on her hips. “How old are you?”
“One and thirty,” Reggie said cautiously. “Why?”
“I am only ten and blood doesn’t bother me one bit.” Hope smirked.
“You’re obviously a braver man than I am,” Reggie muttered.
“Come now, Reggie, we did the same sort of thing when we were boys.” Marcus directed his words to the girls. “And I still have the scar on my elbow to prove it.”
Patience’s eyes widened. “Do you? Can I see it?”
“Some other time perhaps. Now then.” Marcus looked eagerly around the group. “Who has the knife?�
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“What knife?” Charity said uneasily
“Surely you have a knife?” Marcus’s shocked voice belied his relief that they didn’t conceal knives amid their skirts. “How can we draw blood without a knife?”
“We don’t use blood.” Patience shook her head.
Marcus gasped. “No blood?”
“No. We spit.” Hope huffed and proceeded to match her action to her words. She held out her index finger. “See?”
Reggie’s expression cleared. “Well, I’m certainly willing to do that.”
“I don’t know, Reggie.” Marcus shook his head somberly. “Is it really a blood oath without blood? I mean, does it have the same meaning? The same authority? I have some serious reservations about this.”
“We’ve always done it this way,” Patience said firmly. “And it has always worked.”
“It’s still a sacred vow.” Charity’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, if you don’t want to do it—”
“Oh, I’ll certainly do it. Symbolic blood is probably better than no blood at all.” Marcus spit on his finger. “Now what?”
Patience grinned. “Now we rub our fingers together and then we repeat the solemn words.”
“I just knew there had to be solemn words,” Reggie said under his breath and cheerfully spit on his finger.
A few moment later, after much spitting and rubbing, Hope raised her arms like a tiny pagan priestess. “And I promise by all the blood in my veins”—her voice was low and dramatic, and it was all Marcus could do to keep a straight face—“that I shall never break this oath or else suffer the dire, horrible consequences.”
“I promise,” Marcus vowed with all the sincerity the moment called for.
“Amen.” Reggie’s voice rang with enthusiasm and the girls giggled in unison. “Although I would like to know exactly what the dire, horrible consequences are should the oath be broken.”
“They’re bad.” Patience shook her head mournfully. “Very, very bad.”
“It scarcely matters since none of us has any intention of breaking the oath.” Marcus grinned at the girls.
His remarkably good spirits had returned with a vengeance. The discovery of Gwen’s nieces explained a good deal about his wife’s attitude and behavior, possibly even why she had agreed to marry him in the first place. It hadn’t been easy to trust her completely, and admittedly he had known a twinge of doubt. Now he was quite pleased with himself that he’d listened more to his heart than to his head.
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