A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS

by Lillian Marek

  The earl hurried off, leaving Augusta to sip her tea in peace and to think. She had never married. When their father’s death had revealed the extent of the family’s financial disaster, her brother had set out for India to join their cousin, Philip Tremaine, and seek his fortune, leaving her to live on relatives and hope. She had been the poor relation then, little more than a companion to whatever relative was currently offering her shelter. She and her brother had both expected that she would stay with Elsworth, but the accident that killed Elsworth and Elinor had occurred only days after her brother left England. Craddock had made it clear that he was taking charge of Anne and that Lady Augusta was not welcome.

  Now it appeared that some of the conclusions she had reached about Anne’s subsequent indifference may have been based upon mistaken assumptions. Elinor had been her dearest friend, and it had hurt when her overtures to Elinor’s daughter had met with no response. Perhaps this visit from Anne was simply because Greystone was now wealthy, but perhaps not.

  Soon she would know.

  Chapter Three

  In which our hero sets himself an unheroic goal

  Philip Tremaine, the sixth Marquess of Penworth, sat at a corner table in the dining room at Brooks and could feel everyone in the dining room watching him. Oh, they weren’t obvious about it. Just a casual glance around the room that lingered a bit on this particular table. Or a sidelong glance that slid away the moment he began to turn his head.

  He must have twitched a bit because Charles Wetherby, his childhood friend, sent him a sympathetic smile across the table. “They’ll get used to you soon enough,” he said. “It’s just that they never even knew you existed, and you suddenly appear from India, rich as Croesus and heir to a marquisate. Nobody knows what to expect.”

  Philip started to scowl but carefully smoothed out his features into a bland mask. “I don’t know what to expect myself. I didn’t want this any more than the Tremaines ever wanted me or my parents. I wanted to stay in India.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Charles asked as if he was genuinely curious.

  “Greystone.” Philip paused while a waiter placed dishes of some sort of brownish soup before them. “He said it was a matter of honor, that I owed it to the title. As far as I am concerned, I owe the Tremaines and the title nothing, but I am indebted to Greystone. His family took me and my mother in after my father died. I couldn’t say no to him.” He took a taste of the soup. It was as bland as everything else he had been fed here.

  Charles grinned. “Not many fellows would have to be urged into accepting a marquisate. Is the estate truly in bad shape?”

  “So the lawyers tell me. They’re still sorting through everything and intend to lay it all at my feet in a week or two. Meanwhile, I am at leisure.” He waved a careless hand. “There is nothing for it. My valet assures me that he has sent me out attired as a perfect English gentleman, so I will have to do what every aristocratic Englishman does—indulge in a life of irresponsible hedonism.”

  Charles snorted soup through his nose. There was a pause while he mopped himself up and assured the waiter that he was quite all right. He looked reproachfully at Philip. “You really shouldn’t say things like that without giving me some warning. Irresponsible hedonism? Really!”

  Philip laughed. “Well, why shouldn’t I? I’ve been working and taking care of other people since I was twelve years old. That’s sixteen years of being dutiful. Why can’t I be irresponsible for a while?”

  Charles was still patting his lips with the napkin and paused, giving Philip an odd look. “You mean to live up to the Tremaine name?”

  “No!” The word exploded out of Philip and he glared furiously at his friend. “You would have to mean live down to the Tremaine name. I have no intention of becoming a cheat or a wastrel or a drunkard or a debaucher of innocents.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to smile calmly. “However, I have always heard that the married ladies of the ton are not always averse to a bit of…flirtation?”

  “Ah, well, if that’s what you’re after, you’ve come to the right man.” Charles leaned back, folded his hands, and smiled over them. “The town’s a bit thin of company at the moment, but there are always a few people around and a few gatherings where you might meet just the sort of interesting ladies you are thinking of. In fact, Mrs. Dalrymple is hosting a soiree this evening. We can drop in later.”

  Philip looked suddenly uncertain. “I don’t know the lady, and I haven’t been invited.”

  “Penworth…” Charles drawled out the name and smiled when Philip flinched slightly. “You are a marquess, and the Dalrymples are ambitious. They entertain frequently and lavishly, but they do not precisely attract the elite of society. Mrs. Dalrymple will fall all over herself with delight if I bring you to her.”

  “I feel like a prize pig,” muttered Philip.

  A few hours later, Charles was unable to resist a flourish when he presented Philip to Mrs. Dalrymple. To Philip’s eyes, the lady herself seemed to be impeccably dressed and groomed, jeweled but not overly so, and as courteous of speech as anyone could wish. But to Philip’s embarrassment, she was every bit as overjoyed to welcome him as Charles had predicted.

  Since other guests were still arriving and needed to be greeted, she regretfully allowed Charles to take him away, saying, “For I’m sure, Mr. Wetherby, you know everyone Lord Penworth would care to meet.”

  As they strolled away, Charles spoke in an undertone. “That means she expects me to keep you away from the mushrooms and direct you to any titles she has managed to snare.”

  “I don’t know why you are so wary. It seems an unexceptionable gathering. Those fellows over there are doing their best to look bored to death, and those young ladies on the opposite side of the room simply look terrified, and the older women seem to be busy gossiping among themselves.” To his amusement, some of them were wearing what they thought of as turbans. He supposed it was no odder than the women out riding in the park with little men’s hats perched on their heads, but he found it difficult to think of a turban as anything other than masculine attire.

  He stopped when a burst of laughter caught his attention. Near the windows were two women surrounded by admirers, all of them laughing at something. The men looked like all the others in the room, but the women did not. One had golden hair, dressed in intricate braids and ringlets entwined with ribbons and gems. The other had sleek dark hair, pulled back very simply, and topped with a bizarre confection of feathers. The blonde wore a dress in shades of gold, pale at her shoulders and deepening to almost bronze at the bottom flounce. The brunette wore a dress of crimson trimmed with black lace. Both dresses were cut very low, displaying their wearers’ ample charms, and both women sparkled with necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings.

  Philip turned to Charles. “I thought you said this was a respectable gathering.”

  Charles snorted with laughter. “I’ll have you know that those are two of the ton’s most fashionable matrons.” When Philip looked dubious, he continued, “No, really. The dark one is Mrs. Bracegirdle, wife of the immensely wealthy Henry Bracegirdle, who is the uncle of the Earl of Wilton.” Charles paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, he’s probably the great uncle, or maybe even the great-great uncle.”

  Philip looked at the lady in question. “I cannot imagine anyone needing to look very far for an explanation of the gentleman’s choice. Bracegirdle is both elderly and wealthy?”

  “Yes,” said Charles in mock sorrow. “One must of course feel pity for the poor lady, with widowhood looming so rapidly on the horizon.”

  Philip inclined his head in understanding. “And the golden lady?”

  “An excellent description,” said Charles. “Golden in coloring, golden in tastes, and golden in opportunity.”

  “Another elderly, wealthy husband?”

  “Mmm, not quite so clear. Lord Hadlow is not elderly but is reputed to be wealthy. Unfortunately for the lady, he is also tightfisted, so Lady Hadlow, the
fair Claudia, is suspected of indulging in paramours who can shower her with the little luxuries that her husband neglects to provide.”

  “Little luxuries?”

  Charles waved a hand in an airy gesture. “Mere bagatelles. A ball gown here, an emerald bracelet there. Nothing to speak of.”

  “And her husband has no objections?” Philip shook his head in bemusement.

  “Sir! How can you be so censorious! Everyone knows the lady is simply very clever with her pin money.”

  By now they had reached the laughing group, and had caught the friendly attention of the ladies and the less friendly attention of the gentlemen.

  Charles bowed courteously to the ladies. “Lady Hadlow, Mrs. Bracegirdle, may I present my friend, the Marquess of Penworth?”

  The ladies looked still more interested, and dropped curtsies that somehow included a display of bosom. And admirable bosoms they were, thought Philip with amusement as he bowed in return. Before he quite knew how it had been managed, Lady Hadlow was attached to his arm and he was being subjected to a thorough investigation, though conducted in admirably sultry tones. He was uneasy, but made an effort to overcome his discomfort. Indeed, this seemed the perfect introduction to the irresponsible hedonism he longed for.

  The following evening, dining once more at Brooks, Charles regarded him with a mischievous grin. “How do you find the ladies of the ton?”

  Philip made a wry face. “They take a bit of getting used to, and it is hardly because they are bland. I never met the wives or daughters of the Indians I dealt with. They were all hidden away in purdah. The only women I ever saw were the professionals, and those had a certain…restraint, I suppose. At least in public. I find it disconcerting to be propositioned by supposedly respectable married women.”

  “You prefer to be pursued by the mamas of the unmarried ones?”

  “No thank you,” Philip laughed. “I have no desire to take on the duties and responsibilities of marriage until I have had a chance to enjoy my chance at selfish pleasure. I intend to spend the next few years being a thoroughly disreputable rake. At the moment I am endeavoring to decipher the clues that will tell me whether I am conversing with a lady who is truly available as distinct from a lady who is merely flirtatious.”

  “I can assure you that when the beautiful Lady Hadlow hinted that she will be available if you join her at Greystone’s, she was not simply being flirtatious. She always means it.”

  “The beautiful Lady Hadlow. She is beautiful, isn’t she? I must, I suppose, start my rakish career somewhere, and she could hardly be more blatant. Still…I find it difficult to feel comfortable with the lady. And why do I feel that I am simply another trophy to be added to her collection?”

  “Probably because you are. You might want to be careful, however. I heard earlier today that Lord Hadlow has finally realized that his wife feels no more bound by her marriage vows than he does.” Charles looked over at a red-faced gentleman seated a few tables away. “Given that he is glaring at you right now, I suspect someone has told him of her encounter with you last night.”

  “Well,” said Philip with a grin, “If he is here, I suppose it is safe for me to keep a rendezvous in Hampshire. Perhaps I can even work up a bit of enthusiasm for it. I am going down in a few days anyway to see Greystone and Lady Augusta. Care to come with me?”

  “No, thank you. Even out of season, I prefer the pleasures of the town. Let me know when you return.”

  Chapter Four

  In which Mr. Craddock makes a journey

  Herbert Craddock leaned back in the comfortable seat of his traveling carriage—the best that money could buy. It was every bit as good as the Elsworth carriage that had sped his late, unlamented sister-in-law and her arrogant husband to their deaths. It did not, perhaps, travel as swiftly as they had, since a pair of post horses do not cover the ground as rapidly as a team of four, and the postilions available for hire were more attentive to the horses than to the traveler paying them.

  No matter. There was really no rush, despite what Silas Sprackett thought. The man was a timid, spineless fool, and Elsworth had been a fool to appoint him as trustee of his daughter’s inheritance. Not that Craddock was complaining. With Greystone in India, the title and entailed estate going to a distant cousin no one knew, and everything else going to a fifteen-year-old chit who knew nothing, the situation had been ideal.

  He had the girl in his household, and it had taken very little to persuade Sprackett of the advantages of making free with her inheritance. He smiled at the memory of how easy it had been. Even Anne gave little difficulty after the first year or so.

  The carriage lurched to the side, knocking his shoulder abruptly against the window frame. He cursed at the pain, and opened the window to shout at the postilion. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  The fellow didn’t even turn his head, but called out, “Didn’t think you’d want to stay forever behind a hay wagon.”

  Turning to look, he could see that they had indeed just passed a wagon pulled by a plodding ox, so he slammed the window shut and settled back to rub his bruised shoulder and return to thinking about his niece.

  Lady Anne. He sneered as he rolled the title around in his mind. The daughter of one of those titled fools with nothing to recommend them but the fact that they had been born to the right parents. Elsworth had never done anything in his useless life except sit there and accept the flattery of all the mindless toadeaters.

  Unfortunately, Greystone had returned—no one could have expected that!—and Sprackett was positively trembling with fear about Anne’s coming of age. As if there was anything to fear from that timid mouse. She didn’t even dare raise her eyes to look him in the face anymore.

  Still, it would be wise to take precautions. If Greystone started making a fuss and began talking about finding her a husband, hopeful gentlemen might come sniffing around and they might not all be fools.

  He would have to find her a husband himself. Some titled lackwit far from London, an Irishman or a Scot perhaps. Someone who would be willing to take a modest dowry and never think to ask if she was an heiress.

  Then, if anyone should ever ask about Lady Anne, he could say, “Oh, she is married to Lord Whatever up in Scotland.” And that would be the end of it.

  He smiled at the simple beauty of his plan.

  Chapter Five

  In which our heroine arrives in a new place

  The earl’s traveling coach had every possible comfort. Basil Whyte, the earl’s friend, was a solicitous escort, handing Lady Anne into the forward facing seat and seeing to her comfort at every stop. She would have found the journey delightful were it not for Aunt Craddock and Corinne.

  Once she recovered from the shock of not being the center of attention, Corinne had taken a careful look at Mr. Whyte, a tall, slim gentleman, dressed in a superlatively tailored blue coat with a high velvet collar. She apparently decided that the touch of grey at his temples was not really a drawback because she persisted in uttering flirtatious comments punctuated by girlish giggles.

  Aunt Craddock attempted to assert her importance by finding carping fault with the service at every stop along the way. When her demands that Mr. Whyte do something were ignored, she hissed her complaints at her niece.

  By the time the journey was half over, Anne had developed a severe headache, and kept repeating to herself, Three months and I will be free. Three more months…

  Night had fallen by the time they arrived. When Anne looked out the coach window, she could see the earl and Lady Augusta standing at the top of the steps, watching for her.

  She did not wait for Mr. Whyte’s assistance. The moment the coach pulled to a stop, she flung the door open and jumped to the ground. For a moment, none of them moved. Then the past five years dropped away. The earl held out his arms and said softly, “Annie. Little Annie.”

  Without any thought she flew up the steps and into his arms. “Uncle George? Oh, Uncle George, it’s so good to s
ee you again. And Aunt Augusta.” She turned to embrace the older woman. “How I’ve missed you. You have no idea how much I have missed you.”

  Their greetings and exclamations were buried in a tide of hugs and tears. The earl kept saying “There, there” as he offered Anne a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, and then took it back to blow his nose. Augusta kept saying “Oh my dear” as she patted Anne. And Anne kept saying, “I don’t know why I am such a watering pot. I am just so happy to see you.”

  Eventually the earl looked up to notice the Craddock ladies standing at the bottom of the steps looking quite flabbergasted. “Oh goodness, forgive me.” He wiped his eyes and hurried down to them. “Mrs. Craddock, Miss Craddock.” He bowed to each in turn. “I fear I was overtaken by the joy of the moment. I am Greystone, and this is my sister, Lady Augusta. Please allow me to welcome you to my home.”

  “Yes,” said Augusta, coming down to stand beside him. “It was good of you to accompany our goddaughter.”

  Aunt Craddock bobbed a curtsey and so did Corinne, after receiving an elbow in the ribs from her mother. “Yes, my lady, we’re very fond of Annie,” said the older woman, and poked her daughter again when Corinne looked startled.

  Lady Augusta looked at them sharply. “Well, you must all be exhausted by the long trip. Come. Peters will show you to your room while I get Lady Anne settled in. Where is her maid?” She looked over at the baggage coach and gestured at the maid standing there. “Come over here, girl, and see to your mistress.”

  “Ah,” said Aunt Craddock as the maid hurried to her side, “she is my maid, mine and Corinne’s. Anne has never required one.” She smiled nervously.