Never Marry a Marquess

by Regina Scott

  “If that is your wish,” Alex said, voice haughty, “but do not think you can be done with me so easily.”

  Kendall took a step forward. “And do not think that because I prefer to remain polite I would allow you to do the least to any member of my family. If you say a word against Lady Kendall, I will see you up on charges of theft.”

  “If you dare bring me up on charges, I will countersue for defamation of character,” Alex vowed. “And when I make my defense, I will be sure to bring Mrs. Bateman as a witness to the character of your wife and point out that the latest discrepancies came when Lady Kendall was given charge of the accounts. I will also share the lavish gifts your lowly bride demanded for the privilege of marrying you. And I will be certain to trace her avarice back to the woman who trained her.”

  His gaze speared to Miss Thorn, as if she was to blame for it all. She stood tall, proud.

  “Do your worst,” she spat out. “I am no longer afraid of you.”

  Alex’s chuckle was as ugly as his sneer. “You should be.”

  Kendall had never been a man of violence, but he was sorely tempted to plant his fist in the solicitor’s face.

  “No,” Julian said. “She should not. You will do nothing to hurt her.”

  Breath coming heavily, Kendall glanced his way. The younger solicitor’s face was set, his stance firm on the carpet.

  “Lord and Lady Kendall are now my clients,” he said. “You will do nothing to cause them embarrassment or concern. Nor will you trouble Meredith Thorn or any of her clients.”

  “And what will you do?” Alex demanded. “Bring me up on some paltry offense? You know that’s a double-edged sword. I can make the magistrates dance to my tune.”

  “I have seen you do it, to my sorrow,” Mayes replied. He was smiling, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “No, I have another thought. You mentioned that wars start at a word from you, and here we are at war with America, after you ceased negotiations.”

  Was that a pallor creeping into the solicitor’s face? “The Yanks are unreasonable,” he blustered. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Not everyone,” Miss Thorn said with a look of awe to her betrothed.

  “While you were away,” Mayes continued, “I was approached by Lord Hastings, who arranged for me to be introduced to His Royal Highness. How do you think England’s spymaster and the future king would take it if I mentioned my concerns about your conduct in America to them?”

  Alex licked his lips. “My service speaks for itself.”

  “Yes,” Mayes said, “I fear it might.” He turned to his betrothed. “Are you satisfied with the outcome of our interview, my love?”

  Her smile was all for him. “Indeed I am.”

  He turned to Kendall. “And you, my lord?”

  Kendall looked to his former solicitor, who had sunk back into the chair, heavy body hunched and face ashen. He knew a beaten man when he saw him.

  “Yes, Mr. Mayes,” Kendall said. “I believe I am, and your services on my behalf are noted. You are hired at double the fee of my former firm, and I look forward to a long and prosperous association.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kendall was away less than thirty-six hours, but each moment had dragged for Ivy. Sophia was fussy, and even Petunia’s antics hadn’t been enough to distract the little girl for long.

  “Do you miss him too?” Ivy asked, walking the baby in her arms around the nursery.

  Sophia sighed and rested her head on Ivy’s shoulder.

  Mrs. Sheppard herself came to let Ivy know when the coach arrived on the drive.

  “His lordship will meet you for dinner,” she explained, bustling into the room. “Becky and I will watch Lady Sophia, with Miss Bateman’s kind help.”

  Petunia readily agreed, but the housekeeper wasn’t finished. “Now, let’s get you changed,” she said to Ivy, striding for the door to Ivy’s room.

  Ivy didn’t argue. In truth, she wanted to look her best. Kendall had said he intended to continue their conversation when he returned. She wanted to give him every encouragement to say yes to making their marriage real.

  “The blue silk,” Ivy told the housekeeper as Mrs. Sheppard headed for the wardrobe.

  The older woman retrieved the gown just as Percy hurried into the room to help as well.

  “And the gold sash,” the maid said, pulling the satin ribbon from the dressing table drawer. “As soon as you’re dressed, your ladyship, I’ll see to your hair.” She smiled at Ivy.

  Ivy smiled back.

  A short while later, she stood gazing at herself in the Pier glass mirror. Her hair was piled up with curls lose about her cheeks, like spun gold. The fit of the gown called attention to her womanly curves. More, there was a confidence in her posture, a light in her eyes. For the first time, she thought she just might look like a marchioness.

  “A bit of rouge?” Percy suggested, holding up the pot.

  “No,” Mrs. Sheppard said. “Her ladyship is perfect as she is.”

  Though she knew it spoiled the image she was trying so hard to cultivate, Ivy turned and hugged her. After a moment’s hesitation, the housekeeper returned the gesture.

  “His lordship requested dinner in the pavement room at six,” Mrs. Sheppard said as she disengaged. “Give him a half hour, and then go to him.”

  ~~~

  Kendall climbed the stairs to his room. Amazing how much flour could get on a fellow, even when wearing one of the voluminous aprons of the kitchen staff. He had just enough time to change before meeting Ivy for dinner. Every minute seemed too long.

  And yet, as he passed the room next to his, he felt as if someone called to him.

  He stopped, stared at the door. It was time.

  He opened it and stepped inside. Memories tiptoed toward him—Adelaide’s gasp of delight when he’d given her his mother’s jewels, the light in her weary eyes when she’d first held Sophia. He moved to the bed, ran a hand over the coverlet, cold and stiff from disuse.

  “You will not be forgotten,” he promised. “You are not being replaced. I will make sure Sophia knows all about the woman who gave her life to birth her. But it is past time I let you go.”

  He thought the room sighed in agreement. Heart lighter, he went to the jewelry box on the dressing table and retrieved what had always belonged to the Marchioness of Kendall. Then he left the room to change for dinner with his wife.

  ~~~

  If the thirty-six hours were long, the next half hour was endless. Ivy didn’t dare go to Sophia for fear of ruining her gown or hair. In the end, she wandered about the upper corridors, trying different approaches in her mind. She’d already told him she wanted to be his wife. What else could she say, what could she do, to convince him?

  As she descended to the main floor, her heart was beating as fast as if she’d run the whole way, and her skin felt as if bees buzzed along it. She slipped into the pavement room, followed the path past the statues. At least they seemed to be smiling at her, even the two former Lady Kendalls.

  The staff had erected a round table and two harp-backed chairs next to the pavement. The silver-edged china gleamed in the light streaming down from the high glass roof.

  But the splendor was nothing to Kendall. He had dressed in a jacket of deep blue velvet, and a silver-shot waistcoat peeked out above and below. Once more his hair was perfectly combed, his mustache and beard neat. The glow in his eyes encouraged her closer.

  They gazed at each other a moment, then Kendall hastened to pull out one of the chairs for her.

  Ivy gathered her skirts and sat, and he helped her scoot the chair forward. For a moment, with his arms bracketing her, as if she was in his embrace.

  He took his seat across from her with a smile.

  In the silence, she could hear the fountain playing.

  “Did you accomplish what you’d hoped in London?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” he replied, settling himself on the chair. “I discharged Sir Alex and his fir
m and hired Julian Mayes. You will not be troubled again.”

  He had gone to such effort, for her. “Thank you. I know he served you well for a long time.”

  He grimaced. “Perhaps not as well as I’d hoped. There are discrepancies in the household accounts.”

  Her hands were trembling. She folded them in her lap. “Discrepancies?”

  “Funds expended with no supplies noted, that sort of thing. Clearly, he thought to cheat us.”

  Much as she loathed the solicitor, she could not allow him to take the blame. “It wasn’t Sir Alex, Kendall. It was Mrs. Sheppard, I fear.”

  He frowned. “Mrs. Sheppard?”

  “On my behalf,” Ivy hurried to assure him. “I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid you would be disappointed in me.” She swallowed and sat taller. “I am the new baker.”

  Kendall’s brows went up, but before he could speak, Travis brought in the first course. Ivy couldn’t bring the lovely mulligatawny soup to her mouth as she waited for Kendall’s answer. He did not respond until the footman had left the room again.

  “I know,” he said, silver spoon in one hand. “That’s why I asked Mrs. Sheppard to order you the best equipment. You are very good at baking, Ivy, and you clearly enjoy it. I would never insist that you stop.”

  “But it’s not ladylike,” Ivy protested.

  He shrugged. “And marquesses are not known for digging in the dirt, but my father and I did so gladly to unearth the pavement. Besides, many ladies have unique interests. Some garden when they have a capable gardening staff. Others make lace when they can afford to buy yards of it. You bake.”

  “You truly don’t mind?” Ivy pressed.

  He smiled, dipping his spoon into the soup. “Not so long as I can enjoy the product of your labor.”

  Ivy sagged, shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks. “Oh, Kendall, I’m so glad. And Mrs. Sheppard and I never meant to cheat anyone. We weren’t sure you would want me to bake for Miss Thorn’s wedding, as the dowager duchess requested. I suspect those supplies are the ones Mrs. Sheppard was trying to hide.”

  “Mystery solved, then,” he said. “Please let her know she has no need for concern. But I stand by my assessment. The greater discrepancy came long before you started baking at Villa Romanesque. The oddity stopped when I went to London. At first, I thought the change had something to do with my absence. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one absent. Sir Alexander was in America during that time.”

  Ivy stared at him. “Then he truly did steal from the estate.”

  Kendall nodded. “We are well rid of him.”

  The soup had never tasted finer. She was so relieved to have her baking out in the open and the solicitor out of their lives, she had finished the soup and the salmon that followed before she remembered they had other important matters to discuss.

  But Kendall did nothing to deepen the conversation, asking after Sophia and Petunia, offering suggestions for the rest of the summer. He even broached the possibility of a house party at Christmas.

  “Sophia and I would enjoy having all our family close,” he said, gaze on hers.

  Their family. The thought that he had embraced all the Batemans made her so happy that she almost forgot again. She straightened her shoulders, determined to bring up the subject herself when Travis cleared away the dishes.

  But before she could open her mouth, the footman returned with Mrs. Sheppard, each carrying a covered platter.

  “What’s this?” Ivy asked, glancing between the silver domes. The housekeeper sent her a smile of encouragement before she and Travis withdrew.

  “Open that one first,” Kendall said with a nod to the one on the right of her.

  Ivy lifted the lid. On the white porcelain platter inside lay a dozen Naples biscuits, the edges just a bit too brown. The scent of rosewater floated up from them.

  She frowned. “I didn’t bake these.”

  “No,” he said. “I did. I wanted to show you how much I value you, Ivy. It is clear to me that one of the ways you show your love for others is to bake for them.”

  He was right. She baked for the love of her family. But did that mean…?

  He nodded to the other silver cover. “Now that one.”

  Hand trembling once more, Ivy did as he bid.

  The diamond necklace and tiara inside glittered in the light, sending rainbows flashing across the white tablecloth. Ivy drew in a breath.

  Kendall rose and came around the table. “These were my mother’s. She told my father to instruct me to give them to my wife.”

  He went down on one knee beside Ivy. “My darling Ivy, who made me believe in love again, will you be my wife, in every sense of that word?”

  Ivy stared into his face, so much dearer now than the day he’d first proposed. She knew the warmth in those dark eyes, the silken brush of his mustache. She’d felt the strength in his arms, heard the love in his voice when he spoke to Sophia. She’d worked and hoped and prayed for this moment, the moment she could truly call him husband.

  “Yes, Kendall,” she said, never surer of herself. “I love you so much. I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you to change our agreement. I want to be your wife, your true wife.”

  He straightened and opened his arms, and she stepped into them, wrapping her arms about his waist. Cradled close, his lips brushing hers, she knew that no Roman artifact would ever be finer, no cinnamon bun sweeter, than the love she shared with this man.

  He pulled back with a smile. “I feel as if I should arrange a wedding, attend a dozen betrothal balls.”

  “No need,” Ivy assured him. “We have been acting as husband and wife for weeks. This is just the next step on our journey together.”

  He reached out to hold her hand, as if he relished the touch as much as she did. “And what does that next step entail?”

  Was he teasing her? Even though she had every right to tell him what she wanted, her cheeks were heating. “Now we share everything.”

  He regarded their joined hands. “Everything? I know some husbands and wives who do not share a bedchamber.”

  Ivy frowned. “Why? It’s terribly inconvenient for the staff.”

  He barked out a laugh, then pulled her close once more. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience the staff, or my wife.”

  His wife. Ivy cuddled against him, joy and wonder mixing like yeast in dough and raising her spirits, her hopes. Past his shoulder, she spotted Mrs. Sheppard and Travis peeking at them from around a statue. The housekeeper gave her a thumbs up before they disappeared.

  “Perhaps I’ll enlarge the kitchen,” Kendall said against her hair. “Build one of those Rumford ranges Mrs. Sheppard was enthusiastic about. And Sophia will need a suite of rooms redecorated just for her so you and I can share the suite.”

  “Kendall, the expense!” Ivy protested, pulling back.

  He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “My darling, we are not poor. Far from it. Allow me to spoil you.”

  “I have been quite spoiled enough,” Ivy informed him. “There’s no need to expand the house. Villa Romanesque is beautiful just as it is. Tomorrow, we can stroll through the rooms, pick out which ones are better suited for our purposes.”

  Something warm gathered in his dark eyes. “And tonight?”

  “Tonight and every night to come, I plan to spend with my husband,” Ivy said. “Why do you think I married a marquess?”

  Epilogue

  Meredith and Julian married a fortnight later, on a brilliant summer morning, at the castle of the Duke and Duchess of Wey. Their distinguished guests sat on gilded chairs in the vast hall, while Meredith in the lavender lace gown Lydia and Charlotte had helped her choose took her vows with Julian under a canopy of hot house roses provided by the Earl of Carrolton. And when Julian looked into her eyes and promised to love her for as long as they both should live, she knew their love would last long beyond that. She wasn’t sure her feet hit the ground as they walked back through the
crowd to usher their friends into the formal garden at the back of the castle, where the cakes and biscuits Lord Kendall’s marvelous new baker had provided were arranged with other dishes on damask-draped tables.

  “You make a lovely bride,” Daisy Bateman said as her family came through the receiving line.

  “You will have your turn,” Charlotte reminded her, arm entwined with Sir Matthew’s.

  The Batemans were staying with Ivy and Lord Kendall, who couldn’t look happier. It seemed their marriage of convenience had become much more. In fact, she noticed, glancing around the flower-scented garden, all her clients looked singularly happy.

  Jane and His Grace held hands as they helped their daughters select treats from the loaded tables. Patience sat on a swing under a tree while Sir Harry pushed her, grinning. The pretty blonde had already told Meredith that she was expecting a baby. So was Yvette. The Frenchwoman and her gentle giant of a husband, the earl, were discussing the possibilities of requesting cuttings of some of the plants for his own botanical studies. Beyond them, the always bubbly Lydia and her brilliant husband, Viscount Worthington, were debating the efficacy of hot air over hydrogen in balloons with, of all people, the dowager duchess of Wey and the dowager countess of Carrolton, who were good friends.

  Just as pleasing, Sir Alexander Prentice was out of their lives. After she, Julian, and Lord Kendall had confronted the solicitor, Mr. Cowls had related that Sir Alexander had been chosen to tend to Crown business in the wilds of Canada. She was certain Julian and the prince had had something to do with that. She would likely never see the solicitor again.

  She and Julian finished thanking the last of their guests, and she turned from the receiving line to the garden with a sigh. “Weddings bring out the best in people.”

  “Especially people in love,” Julian agreed, offering her his arm. She accepted it, and they set out to promenade on the graveled path.

  A castle footman approached with Fortune on a leash. While Meredith would have loved to have her pet beside her during her vows, the local vicar had been so shocked by the suggestion, she had agreed to allow Fortune to watch from the gallery. Now she picked up her pet a moment, held her close.