The Marquess Finds Romance

by McBride, Bess

  “That I’m sure Clara never meant to deliberately hurt you. She’s not like that.”

  “No, of course not,” he said, still lost in thought.

  “So you’re on the mend?”

  “On the mend?” he repeated.

  “Are you getting over your broken heart?” Janie said, as if impatient.

  Lord Carswell’s face warmed, and he smiled crookedly. “In hindsight, I have discovered that it was only bruised.”

  Janie drew in a sharp breath, but he was not to know why, for Miss Hickstrom drifted up to the group in a cloud of burgundy silk.

  “Good evening, my pets,” she said with a pleased smile.

  Lord Carswell could not imagine what she had to be pleased about, but he bowed before her, as did St. John.

  “What a crush!” she said, waving her hands toward the dancers.

  “Indeed,” Lord Carswell replied. “I was unaware you were attending the ball this evening, Miss Hickstrom.”

  “Yes, of course I would not have missed it. But I was most delightfully delayed due to some extraordinary news!”

  “That does not bode well,” St. John said under his breath.

  “St. John, nonsense! Of course it bodes well! Do guess at my news!”

  “Come on, Hickstrom,” Mary said. “Just tell us.”

  “I wish you to guess, but please do so quickly.” She looked over her shoulder and then turned toward them again.

  “What’s the rush?” Mary asked. “What’s going on, Hickstrom?”

  “If you do not guess this instant, you shall spoil the surprise!” Miss Hickstrom seemed on the verge of stamping her foot.

  Mary turned and scanned their faces.

  “Anyone have a guess?”

  “Quickly!” Miss Hickstrom said, again looking over her shoulder.

  “I have not the faintest idea,” St. John said.

  “Nor I,” Lord Carswell said.

  “There!” Miss Hickstrom cried out, pointing toward the doorway leading to the ballroom. “See who it is!”

  Clara stood there, radiant in white silk, scanning the faces in the room. Behind her, much taller, stood Roger Phelps, Lord Rowe. He spotted them first and pointed. Clara followed his eyes and smiled brilliantly, waving her hand as she rushed to their side.

  Lord Carswell heard a loud buzzing in his ear as if a bumblebee flew nearby. He noted the brilliant red spots on Clara’s cheeks, the sheen of her wheat-colored curls, the affection with which she held her husband’s hand as they worked their way around the dance floor.

  “Clara!” Janie and Mary cried out in unison, standing on tiptoe to wave at their friend.

  While Lord Carswell was indeed pleased to see Clara, uppermost in his mind was that her return portended Janie’s imminent departure. One most certainly followed the other, and a week in her company had been lost. He swung about to look at the fairy godmother, who watched not the reunion of the women, but him. He shook his head wordlessly, his eyes full of inquiry. She merely smiled at him. Short of causing a scene, he could do little but watch as the women reunited in an enthusiastic public display of affection. As arms embraced, Lord Carswell could hardly separate their forms.

  “You’re back early!” Janie cried out. “Look at you! You look great. Tanned and everything!”

  “Well, my face anyway,” Clara said, laughing. “The rest of me had to stay pretty well covered up at the beach. It was weird.”

  “I can only imagine,” Mary said. She too laughed. “Shhhh,” she added, lowering her voice. “People are looking at us.”

  Miss Hickstrom watched the group with a benevolent smile.

  The ladies found restraint and dropped their voices to whispers. Lord Carswell tore his eyes from the scene to see Lord Rowe greeting St. John. Lord Rowe turned to him and executed a bow, which Lord Carswell returned.

  “Welcome back,” Lord Carswell said civilly. “May I offer my felicitations upon your marriage?”

  “Thank you,” Lord Rowe replied, his tone civil, albeit distant.

  Lord Carswell was not sure he would ever truly like Lord Rowe, but he suspected much of his aversion was nothing more than mortification.

  “How was your stay on the coast?” St. John asked.

  “Wonderful!” Lord Rowe stated. “Everything I could have hoped for. You and Mary must go.”

  “I think Mary is very keen to go. I believe we will now that you are back to see to things on the estate.”

  Lord Carswell listened to the conversations with half an ear. He watched Miss Hickstrom, hoping to catch her eye again. In time, she did glance at him, and he signaled with a jerk of his head that he wished to speak to her privately.

  “Well, my dears, I must make myself known to our host and hostess. I will return,” she said to the group.

  She moved away, and Lord Carswell excused himself to the gentlemen and followed her. She led them to an unoccupied bench near a wall. Seating herself, she indicated he should sit beside her, but Lord Carswell could find no adequate space on the bench given the enormity of her skirts.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Perhaps I should stand. I do not want to harm your gown by sitting on it.”

  “Nonsense! Sit down, Lord Carswell,” she ordered. “This gown is older than you and has seen many the tread of a gentleman’s shoe.”

  Lord Carswell obeyed. Did one ever not obey the lady?

  “Now, what is this cloak-and-dagger bit about? You wished to speak to me?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you for understanding my amateurish silent communication.”

  “Not at all. I am here. I am pleased to note that you behaved with decorum upon seeing Clara once again.”

  Lord Carswell could not like the fairy godmother’s superior tone, but he was in no position to retort—not with his pending request.

  “Of course,” he replied evenly. “It is very rewarding to see Lady Rowe happy. That is all I ever wanted for her.”

  “Indeed? I thought you wished to offer her your hand, your home, your heart.”

  Lord Carswell drew in a deep calming breath. “I did at one time, that is true.”

  “And now you are pleased that she is happy.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “Ah! I do remember now that Clara wrote to me expressing her desire to mend your relationship. Are you prepared to do so?”

  “Of course. I am most anxious to offer my apologies...and my congratulations.”

  “I cannot believe that you must apologize to Clara, Lord Carswell. You never harmed her. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Still, a gentleman does so.”

  “I cannot see why.”

  “That is not why I wished to speak to you, madam.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said. “What I have to say concerns Miss Ferguson. Janie.”

  “Janie!” Miss Hickstrom said. “Again.”

  “Again?” Lord Carswell queried.

  “Please say that you do not wish to complain about her bourgeoisie mannerisms, that she is not of the nobility, etcetera.”

  “No, no, not at all. I have been so blind, so arrogant, so conceited, so—”

  “Yes, you have. You need not use any more descriptors. You have been all of those things, Lord Carswell, toward Janie.”

  Lord Carswell’s face burned.

  “I am deeply ashamed.”

  “Yes?”

  “And contrite,” he added.

  “That is only fitting.”

  Lord Carswell did not think the conversation was going as well as he hoped. “Yet, despite all that, despite my shortcomings and failures, I wish to ask you for a favor.”

  “I have already set myself to finding you a match, Lord Carswell. There is no need to ask. I do not take requests as a rule.”

  “What?” he almost shouted. “No!”

  “I beg your pardon? There is no need to bark at me, sir. Where is the contrite gentleman who only moments ago described shame at his behavior?”

  “Sha
me for the way I treated Miss Ferguson, not for being coerced and bullied by you, madam!”

  “Bullied?” she repeated with a very unladylike snort.

  “Yes, yes, I agree. Perhaps that was too strong of a word. Miss Hickstrom, I wish only to marry one lady. I wish to marry Miss Ferguson. There! That is what I wished to discuss with you. You hold all of us in the palm of your hands. It is to you whom I must press my suit, and quickly, before you return Janie to her own time now that Clara has returned.”

  Miss Hickstrom sniffed and looked away from him toward the dancers.

  “I am not surprised at your change of heart, Lord Carswell. I thought Janie might suit you very well, and that is why I invited her to come to the nineteenth century—though she did not know it at the time.” Miss Hickstrom pressed a finger to her chin. “I am not certain that she knows it now. At any rate, I knew that she would suit you, but I fear that you do not suit her!”

  Lord Carswell felt a painful tightness in his chest. Short of dropping to his knees to plead with Miss Hickstrom, he knew not what to do.

  “Please give me another chance, madam. I will prove that I can provide for her, care for her and keep her from harm.”

  Miss Hickstrom returned her gaze to him and raised an eyebrow.

  “But can you treat her with kindness and consideration as I required of the man who might marry her? Can you love her, sir? Can you give her your heart?”

  Lord Carswell thought he must explode. He forced himself to speak softly but sincerely. “I have already given her my heart. She does not know it yet.”

  Miss Hickstrom’s blue eyes softened, and she made a sympathetic face. “It pains me to say this, Lord Carswell, but the matter is quite out of my hands. While I am able to concede that you can behave with kindness and consideration toward Janie, she is to become a marchioness. You are naught but a viscount.”

  Miss Hickstrom seemed to scrutinize his reaction, and Lord Carswell was just on the point of blurting out that his brother, a marquess, was on his deathbed, one of many, when he paused. Not only was that ghoulish, despite his brother’s betrayal, Lord Carswell did not wish Janie to marry him due to the dictates of some fictional fairy tale. He did not desire that Janie accept his addresses simply because Miss Hickstrom decreed such.

  The situation had not changed. Whether it was Clara or Janie, some poor young miss was to be forced into a marriage she may not desire. No! It was not to be borne. He would not be a party to such an arrangement again. He had once sought to rescue Clara from a compulsory marriage, and he would sacrifice any chance at happiness he had to save Janie from such—even if it was from himself.

  Lord Carswell knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he could make Janie happy. He would do whatever was necessary to ensure her comfort, her safety, her well-being...should she agree to marry him. But he would not force himself upon her. Though he longed to whisk her away to his estate and from the intrigues of the fairy godmother before him, he would not.

  “She is to become a marchioness if she remains,” he asked. “Is that correct, Miss Hickstrom?” He could not forgo a tone of scorn.

  “Indeed, that is correct, Viscount Carswell.”

  “But if she returns to her time, then this charade shall end?” He gritted his teeth.

  “There are no bachelor marquesses in the twenty-first century who are over the age of twelve,” she replied. “Nor heirs to a marquessate.” Again, she arched an eyebrow in his direction.

  For a brief moment, Lord Carswell wondered if she knew about his brother, but he determined that she could not. So few people knew of their connection.

  “Then Miss Ferguson must do as she desires,” he announced. “She must return to her time as soon as possible, for I will not see her forced into marriage as Clara was.”

  “As you once thought Clara was,” Miss Hickstrom attempted to correct. “See Clara’s happiness now. She needed only a gentle push—and machinations—on my part to find her true love.”

  Lord Carswell followed Miss Hickstrom’s eyes to where the group stood, still chatting. Clara did look radiant, the adoration on her face as she looked up at her husband obvious to all who were not blind. He noted that Janie glanced over her shoulder toward where he and Miss Hickstrom sat. Her apprehensive expression tore at his heart.

  “Miss Ferguson watches us with unease, clearly fearing that we are plotting her future.”

  “Are we not, Lord Carswell? Are we not discussing Janie’s future?”

  “We are, Miss Hickstrom, but it does not involve me! I will visit with Clara in the morning, and then I depart for London. I will not return to Alvord Castle until some time in the future after Janie is gone. Do not attempt to dissuade me to remain again as you did before. But before I leave tomorrow, I will encourage Janie to return home as soon as possible. She has seen her friend, and she must now be allowed to go. I am most certain that she does not wish to marry a marquess.”

  “No?” Miss Hickstrom asked with a piercing gaze.

  Lord Carswell shook his head.

  “No!”

  “Perhaps you are correct. I will let her go. She has only to say the word.”

  “Excellent!”

  Lord Carswell rose and bowed, unsure where to go. He could not return to Janie’s side at that moment, not without revealing the depths of his anguish at her impending departure. Yet he felt he must advise her of Miss Hickstrom’s plans. It was one thing to pull aside a lady of indeterminate age for a private tête-à-tête, quite another to request such of a young miss.

  He moved toward the group, then turned for the door, then turned around again. To his surprise, Janie stood behind him, having apparently hurried to catch him. Over her shoulder, he saw that Miss Hickstrom had rejoined the group.

  “Are you leaving?” Janie asked, moisture filling her beautiful blue-green eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yes!” Lord Carswell said in a hoarse voice. “No!” He shook his head. He raised his hands as if to take her by the shoulders, then dropped them.

  “Janie, you must ask Miss Hickstrom to send you home at once!” he said.

  “What?”

  Janie had been fighting the tears that sprang to her eyes when she saw James heading for the door, but she couldn’t hold back the moisture that flowed down her cheeks.

  Lord Carswell withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her, searching the room over her head as if to see if anyone watched. He tucked her hand in his arm and led her out of the ballroom and into the foyer. Janie wiped at her tears as he guided her toward a door near the front entrance. He pushed open the door, looked in and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them.

  Janie barely noticed they were in a drawing room of some kind. Shades of pale green and rose surrounded them.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Why would you say that? I wasn’t supposed to leave for at least a week.”

  “She wishes to marry you to a marquess!”

  “I know that! We all know that! But she won’t marry me off if I leave. How can she?”

  “Precisely! You must go at once before she has a chance to effect such an arrangement.”

  “I am going, James! After I see Clara.”

  “You have seen her. She looks well and happy. Now, you must go! Tonight would not be soon enough!”

  Janie couldn’t stand the heartache that his words caused.

  “Look! What business is this of yours anyway, James Landry Carswell whatever? I’ll go when I’m good and ready! You don’t get to run me out of town! This has nothing to do with you!”

  James did take her by the shoulders then and gave her a little shake.

  “No! You must go as soon as possible. I am concerned that if you delay at all, Miss Hickstrom may devise some scheme that will force you to remain. If you remain, you may be coerced into a marriage with someone you do not know or like. I know that is not what you want! You know that I consented to such an arrangement, and see the years of unhappiness for me!” />
  Janie twisted free of his hold, tears now freely streaming down her face. “Fine! I’ll go! Fine!”

  She turned and ran from the room. Of all people to be passing by, Hickstrom just happened to do so. Janie rushed up to the older woman, no taller than she, and threw herself into Hickstrom’s arms.

  “There, there, my pet! What has happened?”

  Through her sobs, Janie heard a familiar voice.

  “Miss Ferguson,” James murmured. “Janie.”

  “You!” Miss Hickstrom said. “Have you set the poor girl to crying?”

  “I did not mean to make her grieve. I am uncertain even why she weeps,” he said.

  Through blurry eyes and past a headful of Hickstrom’s blue hair, Janie saw people passing by, whispering and staring at them.

  “Come, my dear. The gossips are mongering,” Hickstrom said. She withdrew from Janie’s grasp and took her by the hand, leading her in the direction of the front door. Humiliated, Janie looked over her shoulder and saw James following.

  “Go away!” she cried out.

  “I will not!” he said.

  “Desist, the pair of you. Let us walk in the garden and see what is to be done.”

  “I want to go home now!” Janie said. “Right now!”

  They descended the steps, Janie still half blind from tears. She missed a step, and James caught her other arm. She wrenched free of him and pressed against Hickstrom.

  “Please, children, can you not behave with some decorum until we are free from prying eyes?”

  Janie sniffed and turned a cold shoulder on James as she allowed Hickstrom to guide her past waiting horses and carriages and around the side of the mansion to enter a garden softly lit by lanterns on poles. Several people milled about, but far fewer than had been inside Fairchild House.

  Hickstrom stopped and turned Janie to face her. James paused as well.

  “I want to go home now.”

  “But, dear, you have not visited with Clara.”

  “I saw her. I love her. She’s fine, happy as a clam. What’s to see?”

  Janie ignored James, standing there.

  “Is this what you truly desire, Janie?” Hickstrom said. “What has come over you?”