Never Marry a Marquess

by Regina Scott

  “Show some respect, if you please,” she told her pet. “These are all notes from friends assuring us they will attend the wedding.”

  Fortune regarded the pile, head cocked and ear twitching, as if listening to voices from the notes.

  Truly, the response was gratifying. Nearly everyone she and Julian had invited had replied that they would attend—clever Yvette and her love, the earl of Carrolton, the always energetic Lydia and Lord Worthington, and savvy Charlotte and her pugilist husband, Sir Matthew, along with Miss Bateman and her sister Petunia.

  “Alas, Rufus has not responded,” Meredith told Fortune.

  Fortune pouted.

  There were others. Julian had invited colleagues and acquaintances such as the Marquis of Hastings and his son Lord Petersborough. Since it was a wedding, perhaps the old codger would forego attempting to draw Julian into his web of aristocratic intelligence agents. She had plans for her husband—plans to love and cherish him, plans to spend a good part of every day together, making up for the time they’d lost. And perhaps, one day, a family.

  Only three invitations had yet to receive a response. One was to Ivy and Lord Kendall, who may have been too busy settling into their new life to manage it. Meredith intended to check in on them at the wedding. Though she hadn’t placed Ivy into her position, she felt some responsibility. Still, if Ivy was unhappy, Meredith had no mechanism to remove her.

  The second invitation she hoped would come back with a negative reply. She really didn’t want Sir Alex at her wedding. She had heard he had returned to England, but Julian had only mentioned that he had seen his mentor. She had been the one to extend the invitation, for Julian’s sake.

  “And here is one from dear Patience,” Meredith said, running a thumb under the wax to break the seal. The pretty companion had been her second client, after Jane, and Meredith and Fortune had spent a particularly memorable if utterly dismal house party over Easter with Patience, her now-husband, Sir Harold Orwell, and his aunt Augusta, a celebrated apothecary.

  The invitation had been accepted, as she had hoped, but Patience’s note accompanying her acceptance made Meredith sit taller in her seat.

  Meredith, a fellow was by the other day. He started at the back door, talking with the staff. As you might expect, when Cuddlestone realized he was after gossip, our dear butler sent him packing. But he returned the next day requesting to speak to Harry. I’m quite pleased to report my husband chased him off the property. The local watch has been alerted, as have Harry’s more colorful friends in the village, so I do not expect a return engagement. However, I thought you should be warned. He asked a number of questions as to how I happened to arrive at Foulness Manor, what they thought of you as the instigator, and, most concerning, what Harry might have left me in his will! I almost wish Harry hadn’t been his usual impetuous self, for I might have been able to discover who set this miscreant on your tail. Do take care, my dear.

  Meredith lowered the note, and Fortune smacked it off the table, then jumped down in pursuit of it. Why would someone assume there was something nefarious in Sir Harry’s will? Patience’s baronet husband had been known to try his hand at spying for the Crown, using the local smugglers to travel to France and back, but that had nothing to do with Patience or Meredith for that matter.

  So, who could be searching for secrets, and why?

  ~~~

  Kendall always enjoyed walking about the estate. The ground sloped down around the house in all directions. His father had claimed a man might see tomorrow if he tried hard enough. For the moment, he was content with today.

  He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to invite Ivy. Adelaide had ever refused the offer, teasing him that he must be a farmer at heart that he enjoyed being out in the fields so much.

  “If I cannot drive to it, why would I want to go?” she’d asked him with a laugh.

  Yet here was Ivy, matching his steps, heedless of the wheat kernels dotting the skirts of her blue gown, the sun turning her hair to gold.

  “I should have given you time to fetch a bonnet,” he realized.

  Ivy shrugged, fingers skimming the heads of the grain. “It’s not so bright I need one.”

  “How brave of you,” he said with a smile. “I know ladies who refuse to set one foot out of doors without covering their skin. Freckles appear to be a curse.”

  Her hand flew to her nose. “Will I shame you?”

  He made a show of stopping in the field. “What, madam, have you been hiding this secret? Let me see the extent of this dire pox.” He bent closer. Her skin was creamy, smooth, and beginning to turn the faintest of pinks. Without thinking, he reached up a hand and touched the soft of her cheek. “No freckles, but I wouldn’t worry. Freckles on you would look like cinnamon on a biscuit. Absolutely delightful.”

  He could lose himself in the wonder of her gaze. “I think you’re teasing me.”

  He made himself straighten. “Only a little. It is a lovely day. You should be safe for a time.”

  She lowered her hand and tilted back her chin, exposing the length of her throat. “Oh, good. You’re right. It’s far too lovely to hide under a bonnet.”

  She certainly was.

  He shoved away the guilt that threatened. There was no shame in admiring beauty, so long as he did not covet it for his own.

  He paused and pointed to the trees ahead of them. “There runs the River Blackmole, a placid stream where trout congregate. You would not know it, but spring frequently pushes it beyond its banks as far as we are standing now.”

  She glanced around as if trying to imagine the grain covered by a glassy sea. “Has it ever reached the house?”

  “Only once, before I was born. Every river flooded that year, I’m told. Villa Romanesque was surrounded, the waters lapping at the base of the stairs. It even trickled over the pavement, until my father packed the edges with burlap bags filled with sand. I could tell it gave him quite a scare.”

  “You and your father were close,” she said, gaze returning to his.

  Kendall smiled. “He was my teacher, my mentor, my friend. I miss him keenly.”

  She touched his hand, her fingers warm. “Matthew took that role for me. He has always been my rock, my shelter.”

  That was his role now.

  The fact seized him. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, but everyone needed someone they could count on. He must be that person for Ivy.

  “I will always protect you, Ivy,” he murmured.

  She wrapped her fingers around his, as if attaching herself to his side. “You are a born protector, I see that. But sometimes, those who are being protected want more.”

  He thought she meant Sophia, but her gaze was as warm as her fingers. He was leaning closer before he thought better of it.

  Suddenly her gaze veered past his shoulder toward the drive. Turning, he spied a lone rider coming in fast.

  “Who could that be?” he wondered aloud.

  Ivy stepped closer. “My brother. Something must be wrong.”

  Hands still clasped, they waded through the grain to meet him on the drive.

  The sight of Sir Matthew standing on the gravel, feet planted in the stance of a pugilist, set every one of Kendall’s nerves alight. Before his elevation for saving the prince’s life, Ivy’s brother had been known as the Beast of Birmingham. His prowess in the boxing square would have given any sane man pause before facing him. Now his brown coat and breeches were dusty from the road, his short-cropped brown hair stuck out here and there from the ride, and there was a decided set to his rugged face.

  “What do you have to say for yourselves?” he demanded as Kendall and Ivy approached.

  One of the grooms had come up to take the horse but waited with obvious hesitation to interfere. Kendall gave him a nod of encouragement as Ivy turned to her brother.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Matthew,” she said with her usual grace. “Would you care for some refreshment after your ride? There are Naples biscuits.”

/>   Her brother’s scowl didn’t ease. “Did he force you into this?”

  Kendall would not allow Ivy to be berated. He raised his head and took a step closer to her. “I proposed to your sister, and she accepted. That should be good enough for any man.”

  Sir Matthew opened his mouth, and Ivy closed the distance to lay a hand on his burley arm. “Please, Matty. Come inside. We can discuss this civilly.” Her gaze drifted to the waiting groom.

  Sir Matthew followed her gaze, then his face swung forward, and he snapped a nod. Kendall waved to the groom to take the horse. Then he led Ivy and her brother into the house.

  Travis was on duty in the entry hall, but he stiffened when he saw Sir Matthew. Ivy’s brother had come with no hat or overcoat. In all his travel dust, he looked like nothing as much as a farm hand who had wandered through the wrong door. Travis glanced to Kendall, as if for guidance.

  “Sir Matthew Bateman,” Kendall informed him, “has come to see his sister.”

  Travis bowed smoothly. “Would Sir Matthew like to refresh himself after his travels, my lord?”

  The former pugilist frowned as if he didn’t much like being discussed in the third person, and the scowl was enough to set Travis back a step. “He would not.”

  Still Travis addressed himself to Kendall. “And will he require a room for the night?”

  “Depends on how this discussion goes,” Sir Matthew drawled.

  Ivy had evidently had enough. “Come this way, Matty,” she said, and Kendall and her brother followed her to the emerald salon.

  The baronet glanced around the room as they entered. “At least you put her up in nice surroundings.”

  “It’s not like that, Matty,” Ivy started, but he held up a hand.

  “You offered refreshment. Tea and biscuits would be very welcome after a long ride.”

  She glanced at Kendall, then back at her brother. “Perhaps not tea, but lemonade. Excuse me a moment while I tell Mrs. Sheppard, the housekeeper.” She slipped from the room before Kendall could remind her they had only to ring.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Sir Matthew narrowed his eyes at Kendall. “Care to explain why you rushed her to the altar behind my back?”

  He refused to cringe. “I regret we couldn’t delay the wedding. I was urgently needed at home.”

  Ivy’s brother crossed his arms over his chest, straining the seams on his coat. “So, why didn’t you go home, fix the problem, and then return for Ivy?”

  Kendall shifted on the carpet. “It wasn’t so easy as that. But, as I said, your sister accepted my proposal. I promise you I will care for her.”

  Sir Matthew eyed him as if he didn’t believe a word of it. “Do you have sisters?”

  “No,” Kendall admitted, blinking at the non sequitur. “A brother.”

  “Then you can’t understand,” Matthew said. “I’m the eldest. Our father ceased his ability to care when Ivy was five and I was eleven. I’ve been her father since then. I provided for her, protected her. I want to be sure of the man who thinks he can fill that role for her now.”

  Kendall spread his hands. “As you can see, I am well equipped to provide.”

  “And to protect?” Matthew challenged.

  Something welled up inside him, surprising him by its strength. “Ivy is my wife. I would lay down my life for her.”

  Sir Matthew dropped his arms “Then we may not need to have words after all.”

  His breath left him in a rush, as if it was just as glad to have escaped the fury of Sir Matthew’s fists. Still, Kendall managed to seat himself without appearing to fall onto the sofa. Sir Matthew deigned to sit in a chair nearby.

  Mrs. Sheppard appeared then with a tea tray. Ivy was right behind her, Sophia in her arms. Kendall stood until she had seated herself beside him. His daughter regarded Sir Matthew with solemn eyes.

  “Who’s this, then?” he growled.

  Kendall bristled, but, instead of taking fright at the rough sound, Sophia giggled. Kendall stared at her in wonder.

  “This is Lady Sophia,” Ivy said with a fond look at his daughter. “Lord Kendall was concerned for her health, and I wanted to help him nurse her. So, we hurried our wedding for her sake. I left you a note explaining all this. Didn’t you notice it on the secretary in your study?”

  That scowl could surely curdle milk. “There was no letter on my secretary.”

  Ivy sighed. “I expect it was mislaid. Please ask Daisy about the matter.”

  The look they shared spoke volumes. Ivy’s younger sister was certainly a bold one and not above speaking her mind in public. But why would she purposefully withhold the letter explaining their marriage?

  From the safety of Ivy’s lap, Sophia blew bubbles.

  Sir Matthew’s gaze veered to the baby, and Kendall had to grip the arm of the sofa to keep from snatching his daughter away from the sharp gaze. “What’s that you said?” Ivy’s brother demanded.

  Sophia giggled again.

  “Oh, find me funny, do you?” To Kendall’s astonishment, Sir Matthew dropped off the chair onto all fours and advanced on the baby, growling like a bear. Sophia clapped her hands, then reached out and snagged a lock of his hair.

  Sir Matthew collapsed on the rug. “Ow! Ow! Ow! You’ve slain me.”

  Sophia laughed and laughed.

  The sound tugged at Kendall’s heart, pulling him closer. Why had he never brought such joy to his precious child?

  “Do get up, Matty,” Ivy said, smiling. “Your lemonade is waiting.”

  Mrs. Sheppard, who had managed to pour three glasses, shook herself from her reverie. “Biscuit, Sir Matthew?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, righting himself and returning to his seat with easy grace.

  “Set the plate in front of Lord Kendall when you’re finished, Mrs. Sheppard,” Ivy instructed.

  Already she knew him. Kendall accepted the glass and gazed at his bride over the rim. Her color was high, her eyes sparkled. She caught his gaze on her and smiled, and warmth pushed up into the part of him that had been frozen since Adelaide’s death.

  He focused his gaze on the pale-yellow liquid in his glass. He had loved Adelaide. He would love her forever. Could he truly make room in his heart for another?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ivy played with Sophia’s hands as she, her brother, and Kendall debated the need for formal regulations on the sport of pugilism. She would not have doubted Matthew’s interest in the topic. She was only surprised by her husband’s passion on the subject.

  “A boxing match pits skill against skill,” he insisted, setting aside his glass and leaning forward. “In the heat of the moment, it’s all too easy to lose your head, do more harm than you intended.”

  He certainly would never lose his head. He held his emotions too tightly. Did he know how Matthew had come to be called the Beast?

  It was a sign that he had left the Beast behind that her brother merely nodded. “That’s true enough. But if the man has no honor, regulations won’t stop him from doing his worst.”

  “A rule can only be enforced once it’s been broken,” Ivy agreed.

  “But it can be enforced,” Kendall countered. “A fellow might be sanctioned, barred from entering the square again. Surely that would offer some protection.”

  Protection again. Did the man never take a risk?

  “Some,” Matthew allowed. He paused to reach for another of the Naples biscuits. “I see you haven’t lost your touch, Ivy.”

  Kendall glanced her way, and she clutched Sophia closer with the odd notion she could hide behind her.

  “Yes, our baker is quite skilled,” she said hastily, cheeks heating. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.”

  Her brother cast her a look out of the corner of his eyes, but he said no more before he popped the biscuit whole into his mouth.

  “You will stay with us tonight, Sir Matthew,” Kendall said. “It’s too late in the day to start back for London now.”

&nbs
p; Ivy thought Matthew might stiffen at the lordly tone, but he merely nodded. “I’d be glad for the bed and board. And more time with this little sweetie.” He lowered his head and growled at Sophia. The baby had been eyeing Ivy’s glass of lemonade on the table before them ever since Mrs. Sheppard had left, as if determining how she might manage a sip. Now she reached out a hand toward Matthew, and he pulled back before she could clasp his hair again.

  Ivy smiled. She’d nearly forgotten about the Great Bear. Matthew had played the game with Daisy and Tuny when they were little. Likely he’d played it with her as well, but she had been acting as mother for so long she didn’t remember being a child most days. Though Sophia was no blood relative, marriage made him her uncle. Ivy was willing to allow the family to expand, even if Kendall wasn’t.

  “Sophia likely requires a nap,” Kendall said.

  Ivy glanced down at the little girl in her arms, who showed not the least sign of being tired. Indeed, her blue eyes moved from her father to her uncle and back again, as if she wondered who would be the first to play with her.

  “She would benefit from something that tired her,” Ivy said. “Perhaps we could show Matthew the pavement.”

  Kendall brightened, but her brother frowned. “The pavement? Are you throwing me out?”

  “Not at all,” Kendall said, rising. “It’s a feature of Villa Romanesque, and a treasure of my family. I’d be delighted to show it to you.”

  Ivy lifted Sophia higher, and they all left the room.

  She caught her brother eyeing the house as they crossed through the entry hall and into the opposite corridor.

  “They certainly like marble,” he murmured to her.

  “Wait till you see the pavement room,” she warned him.

  Her brother was suitably amazed. He wandered past the statues, pausing to examine each one. “Fine work here,” he told Kendall.

  “Not originals, for the most part,” Kendall said, “but patterned after the Greek or Roman period. Father disagreed with Lord Elgin’s appropriation of the Parthenon friezes.”