In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess

by Hazel Linwood

  “My Lady, I will speak with the Duke,” he said at once. “This situation cannot be allowed.”

  “I wish I could change it,” Lady Martha said softly. “I can think of no way to do so.”

  “We will think of something,” Lord Calperton insisted. “I will confront my father. This cannot be allowed to continue. He must realize.”

  “I wish so.”

  They looked at each other and Nicholas felt his heart go out to her. She looked so sorrowful, and he felt the same way. They would have to do something about this, and soon.

  “I must take my leave,” he said, standing up reluctantly. “I will ride home and confront my father this very afternoon. I cannot allow this.”

  “I wish I could write to mine,” Martha said softly. “But I think it would be best to wait his return before I speak with him.”

  “I see,” Nicholas nodded. He was sure she was right. Her words gave him hope to think that, maybe, her father would right the matter.

  “I must leave,” he said again, and this time she stood, too. They looked at each other. She was perhaps a head shorter than himself, and he looked at her lovely face, with its small nose and big green-brown eyes, and felt his heart ache with love.

  He bent to kiss her hand and then, quickly, opened the door.

  They were out in the hallway and Amelia rejoined them.

  “I must take my leave,” Nicholas said, bowing to Lady Weston. “I just realized it is almost luncheon.”

  “Yes,” Lady Weston said, giving him an odd look. “Well, you may stay, of course, and dine here…”

  “No, thank you, Lady Weston. I promised my father I would go over the accounts with him. We always do it after lunch. Easier,” he bluffed, blushing.

  “Well, then. I hope to see you here for dinner tomorrow,” Lady Weston invited mildly. “And the girls and I were planning a ball. Were we not, daughters? It will be soon.”

  “Yes. I will see you tomorrow, then. Thank you, My Lady. I must run.”

  “Yes, you must,” she called. “Good day, Lord Calperton.”

  “Good day.”

  He raced to the stables and mounted up, riding back as quickly as he could. He did need to get there soon. He needed to put this matter to rights.

  Chapter 15

  Martha leaned back in the chair, looking out of her bedroom window. She could see across the estate, down to the woodlands and the boundary of the Weston lands by the river. Everything was swathed in mist, the morning overcast. It was tranquil out there, and it matched her mood.

  Today is the day for the dinner-party.

  She felt a tingle of excitement as she thought about it. Her gown was ready and she was looking forward to it. Lord Calperton would be attending.

  Thinking of him made her heart fill with a sweet happiness. She felt her cheeks lift with a smile. She couldn’t describe how she felt when she thought of him, save that it made her heart thump with excitement and a sense of wonder.

  She recalled the day when they met in the woods. She blushed, remembering how Lord Calperton had caught her at the Forbidden House. She shook her head at the memory.

  She was surprised he hadn’t asked her why it was the Forbidden House. As it happened, she wouldn’t have been able to tell. All she knew was that her mother forbade them to go near it.

  And she had never found out why.

  “My Lady?” a voice called at the door, interrupting her reverie.

  Martha frowned and stood up. “Yes?” she asked. It was Penitence, but it was odd for her to be here now—usually, she would have tidied the room while Martha was at breakfast, and only come back to help her dress for lunch.

  “My Lady? Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” Martha agreed, looking hurriedly around. Penitence was never in here mid-morning, so there must be a reason for her being here. She stood by the window, interested to find out.

  “Oh, Lady Martha! There you are,” Penitence said. “I brought the pitcher of water for your nightstand. And here’s a clean flannel.” She’d shut the door behind her, Martha couldn’t help but notice, and her heart thumped with a mix of confusion and expectancy.

  “Thank you, Martha,” she said neutrally. She waited for her companion to be more forthcoming. After a long moment, she cleared her throat. She leaned forward conspiratorially.

  “My Lady? I have something to give to you. The young man as gave it to me wanted a reply.”

  Martha felt her cheeks flare with a blush. “Thank you, Martha,” she said, taking the letter from her. She read through it. It was sent by Lord Calperton—she already recognized his handwriting.

  My dear Lady Martha,

  I write this in haste and with knowledge of my impudence in requesting this, but I would dearly love to meet with you to talk at four of the clock today. I eagerly await your reply at your earliest convenience.

  Yours faithfully and devotedly. C.

  She put the letter on the table by the window, feeling her soul soar joyfully.

  “He wishes me to reply?” Martha murmured.

  “My Lady?” Penitence asked. “Shall I tell him your reply? He’s waiting outside by the side-gate.”

  “He’s waiting himself? Wait a moment,” Martha said, hastily testing her quill on the blotting paper and reaching for a small piece of paper. “I will write him a reply.”

  She knew it would be faster to ask Penitence to say a simple “yes” to him, but she felt the need to put words on paper, as he had. Hurriedly, trying to keep her script neat and flowing, she wrote.

  Dear Lord Calperton,

  I thank you for your invitation, and assure you that, were it impudent, the impudence is well-liked. I will see you at four of the clock by the gate. Yours faithfully and in anticipation,

  Lady Martha Gray.

  She hastily sprinkled sand on it to help the ink to dry, blew it off and folded it, then passed the note to Penitence.

  Penitence took the note and hurried down the stairs.

  Martha looked out of the window, her heart turning over.

  She grinned, thinking of her own confident reply. She hoped he would approve of it. She had certainly approved of his message, and the salutations at start and end. He had called her his dear. And said he was devoted.

  Martha sat on the bed, feeling a lovely contented feeling spread through her and warm her heart. She was still sitting there, daydreaming about Lord Calperton, when she heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway. She had expected Penitence, but these footsteps did not sound like those of her maid.

  “Martha?” a voice called through the door. “Martha? It’s me.”

  “Amelia!” Martha opened the door quickly, and Amelia darted in. She leaned on the door to close it, her eyes shiny.

  “Martha. I need help,” she said. She was clearly breathing rapidly, her eyes wide.

  “Yes?” Martha asked, raising one brow, her own heart thudding. Amelia looked a little nervous. She also looked happy. “What is it?”

  “Lord Alton is coming. He wants to see me,” Amelia confided. “He’s coming just at luncheon. I will need to sneak out.” She grinned, radiant.

  “I see,” Martha nodded, and she had to smile. “You’ll never guess what.”

  “What?” Amelia asked, and her joyful face grew even brighter. “What is it, that I’ll never guess? You’d better tell me so I don’t try to.”

  Martha nodded. “Lord Calperton is waiting for me at four.”

  “Martha!” Amelia looked delighted. She reached for her and drew her into an embrace that smelled of roses. “He is! Oh! I’m so happy for you.”

  Martha felt her own heart melt. Sweet, gentle Amelia! She seemed only too glad for Martha to be interested in the man promised to her. Martha knew Amelia wasn’t even slightly interested in him herself. Again, she wished that they could do something about their odd predicament.

  Amelia frowned. “We need to tell Mother,” she said, her mind clearly following a similar track as Martha’s own.
“We cannot keep this secret for so long.”

  Martha felt instant nausea. She nodded, but the very thought sickened her with fear. “Yes,” she murmured. “We should. But how?”

  “I don’t know,” Amelia admitted. “I am afraid to tell her.”

  Martha nodded again. She sensed that their mother would be disproportionately angry about this.

  “I wish Papa were here,” Martha said softly. “I feel sure he would see reason in this matter.”

  “Papa would understand,” Amelia agreed. “At least—I think he is less determined to keep to the agreement.”

  Martha put her head on one side, considering. “Is Mama very adamant?” she asked. Amelia knew their Mama so much better than she did herself. Mama never confided anything in her, or talked to her very much about anything.

  Amelia made a face. “Yes. She seems more set on it than anything I have seen.”

  “Oh,” Martha said sadly.

  It was going to be difficult. However, she did hold some hope for when their father returned home. The Earl was a reasonable man—quite reserved, and preferring to avoid confrontation—but he cared for his daughters and Martha was sure he would approve.

  “I wish this weren’t so difficult,” Amelia said, frowning.

  “I suppose we’ll just have to keep doing what we are doing, till Father gets home,” Martha said softly.

  Amelia looked at her. “You’re right!”

  They both laughed. It was not the best solution, and they both knew that, but—for want of their father being around—it was the best one they had at present.

  “Well, then,” Martha said. “You had best ready yourself for luncheon. I will be ready to support your story, whatever you choose to say.”

  Amelia chuckled. “Well, I will just say I’m feeling poorly and take a lie-down. I am sure you’ll be able to support my acting—after all, you have shown what a terrific act you can maintain!” she giggled, referring to Martha’s distraction of their mother days earlier.

  “Thank you,” Martha beamed.

  Amelia hurried up to her bedchamber, and Martha stayed where she was, lost in thought. She was recalling Lord Calperton’s words to her at the recital when she heard Penitence at the door again.

  “May I help you get dressed for luncheon, My Lady?”

  “Oh!” Martha jumped up, feeling her heart thump with excitement. “Of course.”

  Downstairs, Amelia was already in the dining room. She was dressed a little exuberantly for lunch, in a white muslin gown with puffed sleeves and earrings. If their mother had noticed it, or how carefully she’d redone her hair for the occasion, she gave no sign.

  “Mother,” Martha greeted her, taking a seat beside Amelia.

  “Soup of fish and spring onion,” the footman announced, pouring her a ladle-full as she sat. Martha glanced across at Amelia, who had her hand to her forehead, an expression of violent nausea on her face.

  “Thank you, Haldon,” their mother said thinly.

  Martha glanced across at Amelia, who was trawling the spoon desultorily through her soup.

  “Mama?” she said softly. Their mother was looking at her plate, apparently unaware of Amelia’s suffering.

  “What, daughter?” their mother asked irritably.

  “Nothing,” Martha murmured. She looked at her plate again.

  “Mama, I…” Amelia said, letting her spoon fall with a clatter. “I…please…I feel so sick!” Martha pressed her lips in a line, awed by her sister’s acting powers. She truly looked white and feverish.

  “Fetch the physician, if you please,” their mother snapped to the footman, as Amelia pushed back her seat and half-ran to the door.

  “No, Mama…please. I’ll be quite well. I just need quiet,” Amelia protested. Martha fixed her mother with a pleading look.

  “Oh, fine,” their mother snapped. “Go and rest. If you still feel so poorly by dinner, the physician ought to be called.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Amelia murmured, and renewed her headlong flight upstairs.

  By five minutes before four o’ clock, Martha was counting the minutes. She had already dressed in her best gown, so she reached up for where her riding cloak hung in her wardrobe and wrapped it around her shoulders. Changing her boots, she popped her head into the wardrobe room.

  “Penitence?” she called. “Will you come with me? I, um…need a chaperone.”

  Penitence, who was in there folding clothes, dropped them hastily on the windowsill.

  “Yes, My Lady…coming right away.”

  Martha swallowed hard. “Walk with me, please, but don’t…stay too close?”

  The day was still overcast, though the sun did pour down in one place, turning the soaking paths to purest pewter. Martha walked along them hastily, heading to the gate. Penitence followed behind her, but, as she had asked, dallied quite a lot, so that she was a good ten paces behind by the time they were close to the side-wall of the garden.

  She ran to the side-gate, down the cart-track that the coal merchant used when he brought coal to their house. Her heart thumping, she looked up.

  He was by the gate. Dressed in a long black overcoat, with a black top hat and riding gloves, he looked elegant and oddly tense. He hadn’t seen her yet. She stepped closer and his head whipped round to face her.

  “Lady Martha!”

  He ran to her and took her hands in his. She felt her stomach turn over. His fingers were warm and strong.

  “Lord Calperton,” she said softly.

  He bent to look into her eyes. His own dark ones were intense with some emotions she couldn’t understand.

  “I spoke to my father about the agreement,” he said softly. “He was unbending.” He sounded angry. “I reasoned with him, railed at him…I’m afraid I lost my temper.” He smiled, a wry smile. “But it was fruitless.” He looked sad again.

  Martha nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said softly. She looked up at him, feeling her heart twist painfully. He had been so brave. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for speaking with him.”

  Lord Calperton made a face. “It was the least I could do—though, frankly, my father is not someone I like to cross.”

  Martha nodded. “I understand,” she said softly. “I don’t much like to cross my mother, either.”

  He nodded. “I think we should both be careful,” he agreed. “To do nothing…unwise. That is the best goal at the moment.”

  “Yes,” Martha whispered. “I agree.”

  They talked a little longer. Martha was surprised when, as they headed through the gate and up into the forest, he mentioned the day they met.

  “I was so surprised—I could not have been more surprised—when you opened the door.” He chuckled, his expression deeply fond.

  “Really?” Martha said with a grin. “Well, you hid it awfully well. I would have thought you were completely unaffected.”

  “Really?” It was his turn to look surprised. “Well, I must have more talent as an actor than I thought.”

  “Yes,” Martha said thoughtfully. “I suppose that is true.”

  We are all acting at the moment. When the truth is impossible to tell, we must all become liars.

  She felt a pain in her heart.

  They walked into the forest, where he’d left his horse by a fence.

  “My lady,” he said, taking her hand in his as he turned back toward her. “When may I see you again?”

  She grinned. “I will see you very soon—at dinner, I think.”

  “Oh!” his face went white. “You’re right!”

  Martha giggled. He had forgotten. She felt a joy in her heart that he had been so intent on seeing her.

  “I will see you soon, then,” she said, looking up into his eyes.

  “Yes. I will see you soon.”

  He looked down at her, and very tenderly, he bent and kissed her on the lips. Martha felt her body melt as if she was a candle in a fire; warm and lovely feelings running through her veins like warm candlewax.


  “Take care, My Lady,” he said. He mounted his horse, and lifted his hand to her. “Farewell, until later.”

  “Farewell, until later,” she agreed.

  She watched his horse riding away until it was nothing but a speck on the path. Then she turned and went back to the house.