Redemption of a Marquess

by Tarah Scott

  The girl cast a nervous glance Valan’s way. He raised a brow. “M-Mr. Baldwin will w-want to see what is going on in the ballroom,” she stammered.

  “Dare I ask what is going on in the ballroom?” Valan asked.

  “They are bringing in chairs and tables for the party, but a leg has broken off one chair, an arm off another, and a table is sitting crooked,” the girl answered.

  “I am surrounded by people who intend to destroy all I own,” Valan muttered.

  The maid nodded vigorously. “I think you’re right, my lord. But that is no’ all.”

  “God help me,” he said.

  “They’re bringing in candles. Too many, I think.”

  “A broken table or chair I will forgive, but I cannot allow my house to be burnt down,” he said. “I am startled to realize how incompetent is my staff.”

  “We are not incompetent,” Mrs. McPhee said. “I saved you from being bilked by that deliveryman. As for the chairs and tables, they are old.”

  “Old?” Valan repeated. “I had no idea I owned ‘old’ furniture.”

  “Ye havenae had a party in fifteen years,” the housekeeper said. “We don’t keep all those chairs and tables out. They are being brought down from the attic. Those in the ballroom, well, some of them are probably rotted.”

  “Has it really been fifteen years since you’ve thrown a party?” Jeanine asked.

  He nodded slowly. “So it would seem.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. An instant later, Baldwin entered. “The deliveryman has departed,” he announced.

  “Is there a reason for this announcement?” Valan asked.

  “There is another delivery,” Baldwin replied.

  “I’ll see to it.” Mrs. McPhee started to turn.

  “Mrs. McPhee,” Valan said, “I beg you, do not beat this deliveryman. I would rather not have goods shipped in from England because all of Edinburgh’s merchants are afraid of my housekeeper. Baldwin, please have my carriage brought round. I must fetch help before it is too late.”

  Chapter Six

  Valan arrived with Miss Matheson and Miss Stone at his cousin’s home and directed the servant to escort the ladies to the garden. He then went to the drawing room where he was told his cousin rested. Legs curled up beneath her skirts on a pale yellow divan, Peigi rested her chin on her arm, which was stretched out across the divan back. She turned her gaze from the window overlooking the east lawn.

  “Valan, what a surprise.” She straightened and extended a hand.

  He dutifully crossed the room, grasped her fingers and bowed over them. “You are looking well,” he said.

  She sighed. “Well, I am not well.”

  Valan sat on the far end of the divan. “Are you ill?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I am never sick. Nae, it is Richard. He is intolerable.”

  “Ah, what has your husband done now?” Valan asked.

  She pouted. “You needn’t act as if it is he who must tolerate me. I know how you men are.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, you protect one another.”

  “If that is true, it is only because women are such formidable foes.”

  “There you are,” she cried. “Why must men see women as foes?”

  “I doubt I could explain it to your satisfaction,” he said.

  “Because the notion is ridiculous,” she replied.

  “You are probably right. In any case, I did not come here to discuss the male mind. I need your help.”

  “My help?” Her brows rose. “I have never known you to ask anyone for help.”

  “Be that as it may, I am doing so now. I am planning a party and would like you to help.”

  “A party?” She frowned. “You never throw parties.”

  “I admit, it has been some time.”

  She regarded him. “What are you up to?”

  “I am not ‘up to’ anything. I have simply taken a ward and am introducing her into society.”

  “Her?” Peigi stiffened. “You are mistaken, sir, if you think I will be party to your affaire de coeur.”

  “This is no affair,” he replied mildly.

  “No one will be fooled by the pretense—least of all Richard. You know he will never allow me to associate with one of your light o’ loves. Besides, I know you too well.”

  “Pray tell, what do you know?”

  “I know that you do not do anything that doesn’t benefit you. Don’t be cross,” she quickly added. “We all have our faults and that is yours. I love you, nonetheless.”

  “I am grateful. However, despite your…accurate assessment of my character, Miss Matheson is, indeed, my ward and nothing more.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “My dear, Peigi, have you ever noted amongst my, er, shortcomings, that I am a liar?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Well, not exactly.”

  He lifted a brow.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. But it’s not because you aren’t capable of it.”

  He laughed. “If you are to condemn me for what I can do, instead of what I have done, you might as well sentence me to the gallows this instant.”

  She shuddered. “Nothing so dramatic.”

  He angled his head. “Thank you. Now, I expect you to accord Miss Matheson all the respect due my ward.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I warn you, Valan, I will not be made a fool. If I discover she is not who you say she is—”

  “Your warnings are unwarranted, my dear. You may recall that I am quite strict when it comes to your reputation.”

  “Well.” Peigi smoothed her skirt. “That is true.” She giggled. “Remember when you challenged poor Mr. Nicholson to a duel? I vow, I was sure you would kill him and be forced to flee to France—or worse, the Colonies.”

  “I believe it is you who is now being dramatic,” he said.

  “Not at all. That really was quite foolish of you. All over a kiss.”

  “While I am not known for bending the truth, you are. We both know it was more than a kiss.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Not so much to be worth a duel.”

  “Make no mistake, that is due only to the fact that I challenged him.”

  “You act as if I don’t have a brain,” she said.

  He gave a low laugh. “You do, indeed, have a brain. That is what makes you so dangerous.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I see. Women are your foes because we have a brain.”

  “If it were only your brains, we would be in no danger,” he said with another laugh.

  She lifted her chin. “You cannot blame us for being beautiful.”

  “Indeed, we can. But forget this silly debate. Come, I wish to show you my ward.”

  “You brought her here?” Peigi demanded.

  “Of course.” He sighed when her eyes narrowed. “Remember, Peigi, I will not compromise you. Please, have a look and you will see for yourself that she is nothing more than a child.” He rose and extended a hand toward her.

  “I can never really be angry with you.” She laid a delicate hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  He led her from the drawing room and into a small study that overlooked the garden. To the far left, Miss Stone sat on the granite bench beside the rose bushes.

  “Valan, she is twenty-five years old, if she’s a day—and she is so demure. I can well believe you are not dallying with her but—” She broke off when Miss Matheson came into view. “What—” She looked up at him. “Her?”

  He nodded. “Her.”

  Peigi returned her attention to the window. “She’s quite beautiful. You can’t expect me to believe—”

  “I expect you to believe exactly what I’ve told you,” he cut in.

  She cast him a startled glance, then watched Miss Matheson for another moment before turning away from the window. “Why do you need my help with the party? You have servants.”

  “All fools,” he said. “They will destroy every pi
ece of furniture I own, then burn the house down in a funerary pyre.”

  “Lord, Valan, you’re in a mood. What is wrong?”

  “I would like this ball to go off well,” he replied.

  She studied him. “You are serious.”

  “I am,” he replied. Still, she hesitated. Valan crossed to the bell pull near the door and rang for a servant.

  “What are you doing?” Peigi asked.

  “Introducing you to Miss Matheson.”

  A young maid appeared a moment later and Valan bade her bring Miss Matheson and Miss Stone to the sitting room. He returned with his cousin to the room and, a moment later, the maid brought the two women.

  Jeanine’s eyes met his and her face lit with a smile. “Did you see the roses, Grey? They are the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

  “We are not at home, Jeanine,” he said. “You will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘my lord.’”

  “But this is your cousin’s home. She is family.” Her eyes shifted to Peigi. “Is this her? Of course, you are her,” she went on before anyone could reply. Jeanine hurried across the room to the couch where Peigi sat. She gave a pretty curtsey then clapped her hands. “You are beautiful. Of course, I knew you would be. I wish I had blonde hair like yours. Mine is plain old brown. Your blue dress compliments your hair perfectly. Do you like Miss Stone’s dress? Oh dear, we haven’t introduced you to Miss Stone. How rude.” Jeanine looked at Valan

  “I was waiting for you to finish, my dear.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Is that your way of saying that I talk too much?” She grinned. “You may proceed, sir.”

  He angled his head in thanks, then said, “Peigi, as you must have guessed, this is my ward Miss Jeanine Matheson, and this is her companion, Miss Stone.”

  Miss Stone curtsied and murmured, “My lady.”

  “Do you like Miss Stone’s dress?” Jeanine asked. “Mrs. Morgan made it for her. I did her hair, but I think you could do better.”

  Peigi blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your hair is so beautifully done that I know you can help Miss Stone with hers. I am only tolerably good at styling a lady’s hair.”

  “Of course, I know how to style a lady’s hair,” Peigi said, “But it is Matilda who styled mine.”

  “But you directed her, I’m sure,” Jeanine said. “And you would accept nothing less than perfection.”

  “That is true,” Peigi demurred.

  Jeanine beamed. “Would you do her hair for the party? You are coming, of course?”

  Peigi looked at Valan and he lifted a brow. “Well, my dear,” he said, “will you be attending?”

  Chapter Seven

  The next ten days flew by and Jeanine was surprised to find that the marquess was right. In his large home, she saw him but half a dozen times, and then only in passing. He had promised to attend tonight’s party, but still, it was only just after breakfast, and waiting until the evening seemed an interminable amount of time not to see him. He made no appearance and Miss Stone’s efforts to divert her attention were for naught.

  “Perhaps we could shop for a fan to match the ivory gown you’re to wear.” Miss Stone finished refilling their teacups, then returned the pot to the tray and lifted her cup from the coffee table. “Mrs. Morgan suggested a fan.”

  Jeanine clasped the top edge of the sofa back and rested her cheek against her hand. “Do you think Grey doesn’t like me anymore?”

  “Of course, he likes you,” Miss Stone said. “What would make you think otherwise?” She met Jeanine’s gaze and sipped her tea.

  “He’s never around,” Jeanine replied.

  “He is an important man. I’m sure that business keeps him busy.”

  Jeanine sighed. “But it’s almost as if he’s avoiding me.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything like that,” Miss Stone said.

  “Really? You’re not trying to spare my feelings?”

  “No, ma’am. I would never think of being anything less than honest with you.”

  Jeanine beamed. “That’s what I like best about you, Miss Stone. You’re not like so many others who only say what benefits them.”

  Miss Stone smiled serenely. “I have never been a good liar.”

  Jeanine laughed. “You say that as if it is a bad thing.”

  “There are times when it is best not to be forthcoming.”

  Jeanine grimaced. “You’re right, of course. I often get into trouble by being too honest.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go shopping? You will want to please his lordship by looking your best.”

  Jeanine lifted her head. “You’re right.”

  Forty-five minutes later, they entered a small shop that sold only the finest ladies’ fans. Jeanine took no more than ten minutes to choose a plain bone fan with a single hummingbird painted on it.

  They left the shop and Jeanine linked arms with Miss Stone. “We are off on a special errand, Miss Stone.”

  Miss Stone looked at Jeanine, her expression perfect politeness, and she said, “Indeed, Miss Matheson?”

  Jeanine nodded. “Indeed.”

  They waited for two passing couples, then started across the walk to their carriage. Their footman, seated next to Mr. Potts, the driver, spotted them and stood from the driver’s seat. He leapt down and opened the coach door.

  Jeanine brought herself and Miss Stone to a stop and shook her head. “We will be walking.” She looked up at the driver. “Mr. Potts, can you tell me where we can find a shop that sells cravats?”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss, cravats?”

  She nodded.

  “You want to go to a men’s shop, Miss?”

  “That is where they sell cravats,” she said.

  “Are you sure, Miss?”

  “Sure that is where they sell men’s cravats?” she asked. “Of course. Where else would I buy a cravat?”

  “No, Miss. I mean, are you sure you want to go there? Ladies do not generally shop at a gentleman’s clothing store,” he said.

  “How silly,” she said. “If you do not know where a shop is, I’m sure I can get the direction from a passerby.”

  “Nae,” he hurriedly replied. “In fact, I know the shop where his lordship gets his cravats.”

  “Perfect,’ Jeanine cried. “Where is it?”

  He exchanged a look with the footman, who shrugged, then said, “It isn’t far. I will take you and Miss Stone.”

  “It’s too beautiful a day to ride. We will walk. Just direct us, please.”

  His eyes widened in horror. “I cannae let you walk alone.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Where is the shop?”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “His lordship will dismiss me if I let you walk alone—after he beat me, that is.”

  “Mr. Potts is right,” Miss Stone said. “If you are set on walking, our footman should accompany us.”

  Jeanine smiled. “How clever of you.”

  The driver finally gave them directions, but said he would follow with the carriage so that he could take them home from the shop. They reached the shop in ten minutes and entered. To the left, two brown leather chairs resided near the window, separated by a table that held a tray containing a decanter of amber liquid and four glasses. To the right, shelves displayed cravats, hats, and other sundry man’s articles in a multitude of colors.

  A tall, wiry man, writing in a ledger, stood behind the long counter at the far end of the shop. He looked up and frowned. “May I help you?”

  Jeanine crossed to the counter with Miss Stone alongside, and said, “We are looking for a cravat.”

  His frown deepened. “Are you sure you’re in the right shop?”

  “You do sell cravats,” Jeanine said. “I see lots there on the shelves.”

  The man stiffened. “We sell gentlemen’s cravats.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Miss Stone said. “A gentleman’s cravat is exactly what Miss Matheson is looking for. She is shopping for the Marq
uess of Northington.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “His lordship does buy his cravats here. But I feel certain you have the wrong shop. Ladies who purchase cravats—”

  “This lady is Lord Northington’s ward,” Miss Stone cut in.

  The man blinked in surprise, then his mouth thinned. “His lordship sends me an order when he desires more cravats. He does not send his ward to purchase them for him.”

  “You misunderstand,” Jeanine said. “Gre-er, his lordship did not send me. I am buying him a gift.”

  “I believe I understand perfectly well, Miss.”

  “I am certain you do not,” Miss Stone said in a chilly voice that startled Jeanine. “His lordship will not be pleased to hear that the man who sells him his cravats was so shockingly rude to his ward.” She looked down her nose at him and waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, they left the shop with a lovely ivory cravat, along with a dusky blue cravat, purchased at Miss Stone’s suggestion. She said the color would complement Grey’s dark eyes, and Jeanine was certain she was right. Their carriage sat in front of the shop with Mr. Potts in the driver seat and the footman waiting at the door. He opened the door as they approached, but Jeanine slowed at sight of another shop across the street. A sign over the door read Branby’s Furniture and in the window were displayed chairs and tables.

  “There’s a shop across the street I would like to look at,” Jeanine said, and started toward the street.

  “Miss,” Mr. Potts cried, “I must object. His lordship would not want you going about the city unescorted.”

  “Then we are in no danger of upsetting him.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Miss Stone accompanies me, and you and Mr. McKinnon are only a few steps away.”

  Mr. Potts leapt from his perch and hurried to the curb as Jeanine and Miss Stone crossed the street. They reached the shop and entered. The room was nicely furnished with two chairs, a couch, two tables with lamps, and a sideboard that bore a crystal decanter and half a dozen tumblers.

  A stalky man emerged from a curtained door behind a counter in the far left-hand corner of the room and halted. “May I help you?”

  “I was hoping to purchase a table for Lord Northington,” Jeanine said