Redemption of a Marquess

by Tarah Scott

  “I fear, whether I accompany you or not, we shall have our challenges.”

  “We must bring Miss Stone, of course.”

  “Of course. Anywhere you go, Miss Stone goes.”

  The lady looked startled. “Forgive me, my lord, but I do not have a gown for such grand parties.”

  “Hmm.” He looked at Jeanine. “May I ask how many gowns you own?”

  “Three ball gowns and one day dress.”

  “Just as I thought.” Valan glanced at the mantle clock. 5:45.

  He rose and crossed to the small secretary located near the hearth. He jotted a note to the modiste, then tugged the bell pull. Baldwin appeared before he’d returned to his seat.

  “Baldwin, please have this note sent to Mrs. Morgan. She lives on the end of Bryant Street, a modest brick building, if I recall. Wait for a reply. If she is able to come now, please fetch her.” He handed the note to the steward.

  Baldwin bowed, then left.

  “I don’t see why you must buy new gowns,” Jeanine said.

  Valan returned to his chair. “Would you rob Miss Stone of the pleasure of new gowns?”

  “Oh, you’re right, of course.”

  “Of course.” Valan reached for his tea, then decided something stronger was called for. He went to the sideboard, and poured a liberal dose of scotch into a glass tumbler.

  “You need not trouble yourself on my account, sir,” said Miss Stone.

  Valan returned to his seat, swirled the liquor and took a sniff before drinking half the liquid. He looked at her and smiled politely. “As I will not sew the dresses, it is no trouble for me.”

  “But the expense,” Miss Stone said.

  Valan regarded them. “I wonder at my good fortune to find the only two women in Scotland who care nothing for new dresses.”

  “No one said we didn’t care,” Jeanine said. “But, really, how many dresses does a woman need?”

  “How many, indeed?” he repeated softly.

  * * *

  Jeanine started to open the library door, then paused and knocked.

  “Enter,” the marquess called.

  She opened the door. Despite the gloomy weather, the red of the wall paint and deep blues of the curtains gave the room a warm feel. To her left, French doors paned with glass stood open to reveal a quaint balcony. Opposite the balcony doors, books filled ceiling-high cherrywood shelves. A rolling ladder leaned against the shelves to the right of the marquess’s desk, where he sat, a quill in hand. He’d paused his letter writing to watch her.

  She smiled. “I like this room.”

  “I am deeply gratified.” His attention returned to his letter. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit this morning?”

  “Visit? We live in the same house.”

  “In this large house, it is conceivable that we might not see one another for weeks.”

  “Weeks?” She crossed to the chair opposite his desk and sat down. “That is terrible. I will see you every day.”

  “How fortunate for me,” he said dryly.

  “You do not wish to see me?”

  “I am always pleased to see you,” he said. “But I expect you will be busy, what with today’s party and your lessons in Latin and French, sewing, shopping and dress fittings—” he spared her a glance “—I assume you have more fittings?”

  “Miss Stone insisted.”

  He nodded and resumed writing. “Have you and Miss Stone reviewed the latest party invitations?”

  She scrunched her nose in distaste. “Can’t I simply pick one from the pile? They’re all the same.”

  “Forgive me, but they’re not all the same.”

  She waved an airy hand. “Dancing, champagne, crowded ballrooms, pheasant for dinner—they are alike.”

  With a sigh, he laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps there are some similarities in the programming, but I can assure you, that does not mean they are all the same.”

  “You mean that some are more socially important than others.”

  He nodded. “Something you might remember, if you are to find that elderly gentleman you want.”

  “How long do you think it will take me to find this gentleman?”

  “Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

  “I will no’ be young forever,” she said. “I am already nineteen.”

  He nodded gravely, but the glint in his eyes told her he was laughing at her. “I believe you have enough time to find someone before you are on the shelf.”

  “Laugh all you want,” she said. “There are plenty of younger women than I—and more beautiful. I cannot afford to waste time. My younger sisters are already married.”

  He regarded her. “You are bothered by the fact that they married before you?”

  “Of course. The eldest sister is supposed to marry first.”

  “Surely, there was some young man you could have married?”

  “There are always young men to marry. But I want a wealthy gentleman who…”

  “Who is ready to move on to his reward?” he finished for her. “This has been a plan of yours for some time, I take it?”

  Jeanine nodded. “Since my mother decided to remarry, two years ago. They only just married last year, which is why I knew I had to take action.”

  His lordships’ brows shot up in surprise. “You have a father?”

  “Stepfather,” she corrected. “It isn’t at all the same thing.”

  “Either way, he will have something to say about who you marry,” the marquess said. “Surely, he will want you to return home and find a husband?”

  “Oh no, I can never return home.” Her gaze caught on the small game table to the left of the ladder. “Is that a chess board?”

  “There is a chess board inside the table,” he said.

  “I like chess. Will you play with me sometime?”

  “If you like. Why can you never return home?” he asked.” His eyes shifted past Jeanine and she twisted in her chair as a light knock came to the open door. Miss Stone stood in the doorway.

  “Come in,” his lordship said.

  Jeanine jumped to her feet as Miss Stone approached. “Doesn’t she look lovely? The pale yellow fabric compliments her complexion. The needlework on the ruffled sleeves is perfect. I insisted that Mrs. Morgan sew her a day dress straight away. It arrived last night.”

  His eyes bore into Miss Stone. “And she agreed?” he said.

  Miss Stone stopped in front of his desk. “Nae, sir, I did not. In fact, I instructed Mrs. Morgan to sew Miss Matheson’s dress first. When this dress arrived yesterday, I sent her a note demanding to know why she had ignored my instructions.”

  The marquess’s eyes shifted to Jeanine. “I have an idea why.”

  “Do not be angry,” Jeanine said. “You must agree that Miss Stone’s clothes are…oh, what is the word, outdated—yes—that’s it, her clothes are outdated. Whereas, mine are only not as lavish as you would like.”

  “I would not have even worn the dress, my lord,” Miss Stone said, “but Miss Matheson threatened to burn my clothes if I didn’t.”

  “She is quite capable of carrying out the threat,” he murmured.

  Miss Stone clasped her hands at her waist.” Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I believe she is.”

  “Perhaps that is the threat I should use against her clothes,” he said.

  “I doubt it would work, sir,” Miss Stone said. “She would only devise a way to get even.”

  His lordship’s brows shot up. “You surprise me, Miss Stone.”

  “I cannot imagine why, my lord.”

  “You comprehend Miss Matheson’s character better than I thought you would.”

  “It isn’t hard. She does little to hide her actions and motivations.”

  He looked at Jeanine and she grinned. “Nae, she does not,” he said.

  Miss Stone turned to Jeanine. “We must leave in half an hour, if we are to arrive at Mrs. Morgan’s shop on time.”

  �
��Just as I thought.” The marquess picked up his quill. “I will meet you ladies in the foyer at two-thirty.”

  “I won’t see you until then?” Jeanine asked.

  “I did say I expected that you would be busy today, Miss Matheson.”

  She lifted a finger. “You promised to call me Jeanine in the privacy of our home.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “In the privacy of our home. Aye, Jeanine.”

  She smiled. “Very good, Valan.”

  His gaze sharpened. “I also said, you would address me as either ‘sir’ or ‘my lord.’”

  “Aye, that is what you said,” she replied, then turned, and left with Miss Stone.

  * * *

  At the luncheon, the marquess allowed Jeanine to have two glasses of wine—well, technically, one glass, for each time he filled the glass only halfway. She now watched as he played commerce with three other gentlemen near the balcony, at a table in a corner of the massive parlor. A servant appeared at the table and filled the men’s glasses with sherry and brandy, then left.

  “Ye might bring some scotch, lad,” said the large gentleman to the marquess’s right.

  “The French brandy isn’t good enough for you?” Mr. Phillips said.

  “Brandy is well and good,” he said in a thick Scottish burr, “but a man needs strong liquor when he’s gambling.”

  “This is not a hell, MacLean,” Phillips said.

  The man grinned. “Depends on if ye are winning or losing.”

  Jeanine glanced at the refreshments table on the far side of the room. Half a dozen people gathered around the table. Perhaps she could nip over and fill her wine glass without being missed.

  “Where is Miss Stone, Miss Matheson?” his lordship asked.

  Jeanine started. “Lady Douglas has taken her away.”

  “Away?” He glanced at her.

  “Aye,” she replied. “I believe Lady Douglas wanted to learn more about Miss Stone’s previous employer.”

  In the instant before he returned his gaze to his cards, she glimpsed a strange smile. From the corner of her eye, a flash of red captured her attention. She turned slightly and recognized Lord Gordon as he entered the room. His bright burgundy coat made him stand out like a parrot amongst sparrows. He passed from sight behind a group of men.

  He did not approve of her being the ward of the Marquess of Northington—which was foolish. Anyone with eyes could see the marquess hadn’t taken her as ward in order to make her his lover.

  “Miss Matheson,” the marquess said, “sit. I will teach you how to play commerce.”

  “Really?” Jeanine cried. “I would love to play.”

  He stood and stepped around his chair. “Have my seat.” She took the chair. He pushed it closer to the table, then signaled a servant to bring another chair.

  The Scot sitting to her right, stood. “No need to call for another chair, Northington. You took my last hundred pounds. I’m out. Take my chair.”

  His lordship gave a slight bow. “Thank you, MacLean.” He sat down, then scooted his chair closer to hers. “Phillips,” he nodded to the dealer, who sat directly across from them, “I will sit out this round. Please deal the lady in.”

  “Perhaps the lady would prefer a game of vingt-et-un,” the handsome gentleman to her left said.

  Jeanine started to roll her eyes, then caught sight of the marquess’s arched brows. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes and then looked at the gentleman and smiled sweetly. “If you are more comfortable with a game of luck, sir, I will oblige.”

  Chuckles sounded behind her.

  “Miss Matheson may play commerce if she chooses,” the marquess said. “I promised to teach her.”

  The man looked back at Jeanine and angled his head. “As you wish, ma’am.”

  “The object of the game,” the marquess began.

  “Oh, I know the game,” Jeanine said.

  “Indeed?” he said. “You didn’t tell me you know how to play.”

  “You didn’t ask,” she replied as Phillips began the deal.

  “She’s got you there, Northington,” a man said behind her.

  Phillips laid three cards facedown before each of the four players, himself included, then laid three cards face up to form the widow. An ace of hearts, two of clubs, and ten of diamonds. He placed a fifty pound note in the middle of the table. The other two men did the same, and the marquess took a fifty pound note from the stack of bills in front of him and tossed it onto the pile.

  Phillips took the ace, slipped it facedown at the bottom of his three cards, then took his top facedown card and turned it up beside the other two face-up cards. A murmur went up. He’d exchanged the ace of hearts for a king of hearts. He would be wanting that card back.

  Jeanine lifted the corners of her three cards and looked at them. Three of spades, queen of clubs, and an ace of diamonds. The marquess leaned toward her.

  Jeanine covered her cards and looked at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I am not playing,” he said. “It is permissible to show me your cards.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want your expression to give away my hand.”

  More chuckles from the men.

  His lordship lifted a brow. “Are you saying I cannot school my expression?”

  “Would you let me see your cards if you were playing?” she asked.

  “It is only fair I see how you are spending my money,” he countered.

  Jeanine started to snort, then thought better of it. “I am not spending it,” she replied. “It is simply a stake.”

  The blond gentleman to Phillips’ left traded a four of diamonds for the king Phillips had discarded. Good. It was unlikely Phillips would be able to get the king now.

  Jeanine traded her queen for the two of clubs. The handsome gentleman to her left took her queen and left the four of spades. The round had reached Phillips, and he pulled another card from the deck and laid it face up with the widow. A Jack of spades. Phillips placed another fifty-pound note in the pool. The player to his left shook his head and leaned back in his chair. Janine reached for a hundred-pound note in the stack in front of the marquess.

  He placed a staying hand on hers. “Perhaps you should show me your cards, Miss Matheson.”

  “That would ruin the game,” she said. “If you approve the bet, no one will match me, and I won’t win as much money.” He didn’t move and she added, “If I lose, you will lose less than the cost of that waistcoat.”

  His expression remained impassive. “I believe you already owe me the cost of one waistcoat.”

  “All the more reason for me to make the bet.”

  He remained motionless for two heartbeats, then removed his hand. She took the hundred-pound note and added it to the pool.

  The handsome gentleman to her left placed a hundred pound note on top of hers. “I pray you will not hold it against me if I am the man responsible for you owing Lord Northington the price of two waistcoats.”

  She shrugged. “Since I will win, that will not be an issue.”

  The bet returned to Phillips. His mouth thinned, but he added another fifty-pound note, then traded the jack he’d just laid down for a six of clubs. The play was now Jeanine’s and, with a smile, she gave a small shake of her head. Two more rounds followed before the handsome gentleman picked up a nine and discarded a two. Her gaze snagged on the card and, as hoped, when Phillips added a new card to the widow, a three of diamonds, he exchanged a seven for the two.

  Jeanine relaxed against her chair, intensely aware of his lordship’s eyes on her. When her turn came, she looked at the marquess, smiled, then took another hundred-pound note from his stack and added it to the pool. Phillips visibly blanched. The handsome gentleman matched her bet, but took no cards.

  Phillips’ gaze locked with hers. “As you can see, Miss Matheson, I do not have the money to match your bet. I assume you will take my marker.” He reached into his coat pocket.

  Jeanine shook her head. �
��Nae, sir, I do not accept bets from men who can’t afford to lose their money.”

  His face reddened. “You mistake the lack of money on my person for an inability to pay.”

  She shrugged. “Then next time, bring more money.”

  Phillips opened his mouth to reply, but the marquess said, “It is the other player’s prerogative to decline a marker, Phillips.”

  “She is only declining my marker because she knows that will eliminate me from the game,” he snapped.

  “That is a strategy that will likely save you a great deal of money this night,” his lordship replied, then said to Jeanine, “It is your turn, Miss Matheson.”

  She reached for the marquess’s pile of money. This time, he didn’t stop her when she placed five hundred-pound notes in the pool. Jeanine met the handsome gentleman’s gaze.

  He angled his head slightly. “I will forfeit the bet to you.”

  “Of course, you will.” She laughed. “You do not have the money to match my bet.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “Show us your cards.”

  She shook her head and laughed again. “You did not pay for the privilege of seeing my cards.”

  “True,” he agreed. “But I ask it as a favor.”

  Jeanine shrugged, then turned over her cards.

  Laughter and murmurs rose amongst the men.

  “Beat by an ace, two and three,” the handsome gentleman said. “You are a very good player, Miss Matheson. May I ask where you learned to play?”

  “I have six cousins, all boys. They taught me.”

  “By all that is holy, Northington, you are letting her gamble?”

  Jeanine turned slightly and looked up at Lord Gordon. The burgundy coat really was horrid.

  “Why not?” the handsome gentleman said. “Such talent shouldn’t go to waste.”

  “This is exactly what I feared,” Lord Gordon said.

  “I was certain it was something else you feared, my dear,” the marquess drawled.

  Lord Gordon pointedly ignored him. “Miss Matheson, would you care to have a glass of punch with me?”

  The handsome gentleman stood. “You are too late, Gordon. The lady has agreed to take a turn around the room with me.” He looked at the marquess. “With your permission, of course, my lord.”

  His attention shifted to the handsome gentleman. “You will not leave the parlor.”