In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess

by Hazel Linwood

  Abruptly, before Martha could say anything, her mother started to cry. She sat down, and covered her face with her hands. Martha watched, feeling oddly undecided.

  She might be pretending, just like she did with Amelia.

  She was crying, though—the sobs sounded pained, and Martha wavered, fighting the desire to rest her hand on her shoulder, to offer her comfort. As she stepped forward, her mother looked up.

  “Frederick…I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did what I had to. If my husband had found out, he would never have forgiven me. I regretted what I did. I regretted loving you, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t.” She smiled at him, and the look that passed between them was like sunshine.

  Martha felt her heart melt. She watched as Lord Redfield took a step forward. He took Lady Weston’s hand in his, and got to his knees by the chair. He held her fingers, kissing them.

  “Alexandra…I loved you, too. I would have done anything to help, if I had known. I put you in a dangerous position, and I regret that. I cannot regret what happened. I love you. I love our daughter.”

  Martha couldn’t hold her tears back. She looked at the two of them and tears ran down her cheeks. She had never felt the love of parents before. Her own father had been tolerant and kind, and loved her in his fashion, but she had never felt accepted the way she felt when Lord Redfield said those words.

  She sobbed. She was surprised when her mother started to sob, too. This time, though, they were natural, cleansing tears. Martha watched as Lord Redfield took out his handkerchief and tried to comfort her, and for a moment, the two of them could have been a thousand miles away—they were in a world that held just them.

  “I couldn’t bear it,” her mother whispered. “I couldn’t. When Maxwell started to threaten me, to say he’d divulge the secret if I didn’t do what he wanted me to, I…” she sobbed. Martha froze.

  “He did?” Lord Redfield said softly. “A pox on him, Alexandra. You should have come to me. You should have let me deal with him. I know his sort. And he’s been threatening me for years, too.” His voice trailed off.

  “Maxwell?” Martha whispered.

  Just then, before she could ask them what they were talking about, she heard the butler.

  “My Lady? There are visitors outside. They say it’s urgent. Would you like me to let them into the drawing room?”

  “Visitors…” Martha felt as if her mind was reeling. There were too many confusing things happening today! Just as she was about to ask him who they were, she heard steps on the stairs.

  “Martha? Thank Heaven! You’re well.”

  “Nicholas.”

  She felt him wrap her in a hug. He held her and she leaned on him, clinging to him like a drowning man. She could smell his pomade and the velvet of his jacket, soaked with rain. He smiled down at her as she looked up at him.

  “You’re alive,” he whispered, and his hand rested on her shoulder as he stared at her, his eyes shining happily. “You’re safe. It was…”

  “Martha.” a woman’s voice called, and Martha felt herself cannoned backwards as Amelia wrapped her arms around her and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. “You’re safe.”

  Martha started laughing. She was crying, too, but seeing Amelia’s lovely, happy face lit her heart and reached through her confusion. She rested her hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes.

  “Yes, I am well,” she said. “It has been quite a morning.”

  Alton came up the steps behind them and bowed low, and Amelia squeezed Martha’s hand and then went to join him. Nicholas wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and just then, Mother came out of the room. Lord Redfield was beside her. He looked at all of the new people with a mix of wonderment and fear.

  Before Martha could say anything to introduce the group to him, her mother cleared her throat.

  “Now that you’re all here, I have an announcement to make,” she said. She turned and looked at Nicholas, and the brightness in her eyes suddenly went flint-hard. “Where is your father?”

  Martha took a step back. Her mother’s tone was furious. She recalled what she had said about Maxwell. That was the name of the Duke of Dellminster.

  Martha frowned. Something was tickling at the back of her memory, something about the rider who had ridden out of the mist. The way he rode, the color of his horse, and how close it was to the shade of his mantle.

  “Nicholas…” she whispered, horror gripping her. He didn’t hear her, though, because her mother was speaking again.

  “I wish to announce that I did you all a disservice,” she said boldly. “I would not have insisted upon the marriage of my daughter Amelia to Lord Calperton, had there not existed one important fact. The Duke of Dellminster knew a secret of mine—a very big secret, which I will let you in on in due course—and he demanded I do this in exchange for his silence.”

  Nicholas gasped. “What? My father blackmailed you? So I would marry Amelia? But why?”

  Martha looked up at him. He’d gone white, and she went to stand beside him, taking his hand in her own. She could see real horror in his countenance. She felt worried, and for a second her own terrible fear and assumption was displaced. It could not possibly be true, could it?

  Lady Weston was speaking again. “Your father knew my secret, as I said. He also knew my husband is a wealthy man. He hoped, I think, that I would have no more children, and all of that wealth would pass to whoever wed Amelia. To say nothing of the money he demanded every year, to keep him from telling anyone. You know how your father is…how much he gambles. He was trying to pay off his debt.” She pressed her lips together in a thin line.

  “But…” Nicholas started speaking again. Martha looked up at him, and she felt a sick urgency to tell him her suspicion, the one missing piece.

  Her mother smiled sourly. “Once he was sure you were heir to this estate, most of the money would have been diverted to his accounts, make no mistake. He wasn’t looking for your good fortune, any of you. All he cared about is wealth, and games of chance.”

  “Mother…” Martha murmured. “He…I think…”

  Nicholas frowned at her. “What is it, my dear?” he asked softly.

  “Martha, Amelia?” Mother said. “I would like if you would step upstairs with myself and Lord Redfield—we have something to tell you. You two gentlemen are welcome to the drawing room while we are busy—it’ll only be a minute.” She beamed at them warmly, though she looked nervous.

  “Wait,” Martha whispered to Nicholas, as he headed into the drawing room. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” Nicholas asked, frowning.

  “I think I know where your father was,” she said.

  Just as she was about to speak, the butler came out of the hallway again. “My Lord?” he said, “I have news. Your butler came to the house. Your father has gone missing.”

  Martha felt her legs collapse under her.

  “Martha? What is it?” he asked gently. “What happened?”

  “Nicholas, someone rode me off that path on purpose. I know who the rider was, now. It was your father. If he didn’t do it himself, he was there to make sure someone else did. He wanted me dead.”

  Nicholas stared at her. He had gone white. He straightened up at once, his face grim. He looked at the butler.

  “I am going home at once,” he said. “I need to find my father.”

  Chapter 37

  Nicholas rode through the rain. His back was straight and he felt his pulse thunder in his ears as he rode. He was not even angry anymore. This went beyond anger. He was coldly disgusted. He wanted to erase his father, wanted him gone so that he would never have to speak to him again.

  He would have killed Martha. He rode her off the path in that rain. She would have died of cold or injury, and he would have come back to the house and played at mourning her.

  He galloped down the road and drew up at the house, jumping from the saddle before they were stopped, and calling out for the stable ha
nd.

  “See that he is groomed and dried, and give him warm mash,” he shouted over his shoulder. It was raining hard now, the rain soaking his skin, blinding and deafening him. He held his hat over his eyes and marched up to the front door, beating hard on it. A footman answered.

  “Has anyone found my father?”

  “Um…he…” the man stammered. He looked frightened.

  “Where is he, curse you?” Nicholas growled. He regretted losing his temper, but he couldn’t help it. He was furious.

  “My Lord, he…he said we shouldn’t…”

  “I suppose he told you not to tell me,” Nicholas said grimly. “But I can guess what happened. He came back here, changed his clothes, payed whatever thugs he hired to harm Lady Martha, and took the coach to London, or to the docks to France, or Heaven knows where. He’s decided to get away from everyone who knows what a lying, wicked man he is.”

  The footman blinked at him, and Nicholas could see shock there, as well as a surprising lack of disagreement with his words about the duke. “He came back, yes, My Lord,” he said after a long time. “And the coach is gone. He did not mention where he was going.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Nicholas said wearily. He nodded to the man. “Thank you. You may go.”

  He watched as he hurried away. He felt so tired. He shivered, and decided the best thing he could do was go upstairs and change out of his soaking riding clothes.

  Once he was in dry clothes, it was easier to think and plan. He could see it all so clearly now. His father’s threat, his last desperate attempt to claim power over Nicholas and to damn him for daring to defy him. He felt his hand ball into a fist.

  He almost had her killed.

  He felt sick. He knew his father had disappeared, and he would have to be content with having him far away. That was enough. If he left England, he could never hurt any of them again.

  He made plans. He knew that the very first thing he wanted to do was ride back and be with Martha—whatever the secret was, he thought that it might be something she’d need support to hear. Secondly, he wished to marry her at once.

  There is nothing to stop me, now.

  He reached for paper first. He would write to the steward at the London house, and ask the man to inform him of his father’s presence in London. He felt sure he would go there first—he’d need to take whatever was left in the London bank account, for a start, if he was planning to leave England.

  Nicholas felt sick. It was one of the two things his father cared about: money, and power.

  Once he had written the note and given it to a footman to dispatch, he rode straight back to Weston Manor. The rain had stopped, and he arrived relatively dry. He jumped down and ran up the stairs and into the entrance hall—the door was unlocked.

  “Martha?” he called, heart full of apprehension. What if something had happened? He still couldn’t believe she’d almost been killed, under his nose.

  He gasped as someone ran down the stairs. It was Martha. She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him, her lovely mouth stretched with a smile.

  “Nicholas! You’re here. It’s wonderful. Father is back, and he accepted everything. He isn’t angry, after all. He’s quite happy, and even Lord Redfield isn’t unwelcome. Oh, I’m so happy!”

  Nicholas grinned hesitantly, but felt bemused. “What?” he asked gently. “Martha…what is the matter?”

  Martha laughed. “Oh! Yes. I forgot. Nobody told you. I’m not the Earl of Weston’s daughter. Shh…don’t tell anyone.”

  “What?” Nicholas frowned at her. She was smiling, and he thought he must have misheard. Surely she couldn’t be this excited about something that seemed so shocking?

  She looked up at him, a smile on her lips. “Yes. Isn’t it amazing? I thought Father would be angry, but when Mother told him, he was…well…I suppose he wasn’t pleased, but I think somehow he must have always had a suspicion it was true. Which means that your father’s blackmailing them both for so many years would have been useless anyway, since Father didn’t do anything. He’s not angry.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Martha…forgive my confusion, but none of this makes sense. You are saying you’re not the Earl of Weston’s daughter?”

  “Yes…” she frowned. “Nicholas, you don’t…now that you know I’m not an Earl’s daughter, you won’t…” she covered her face with her hands and he heard her sob. He stared at her in shock.

  “Martha!” he exclaimed, and he also felt tears sting his eyes. “Martha…how could you think that? You think I would turn away, because you’re not the Earl’s true daughter? Martha, I would love you if you were the daughter of a prince or the daughter of a cattle-herder. I love you with every fiber of me, with every breath. I would never stop loving you, Martha. Never.”

  She was still crying, and he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Martha…I came here because I had to speak to you. I hadn’t planned to say it right here, in the middle of the house, but, Martha, I want to spend my life with you. I have wanted that since I first got to know you, and I want it now. Please, marry me?”

  Martha stared at him. Nicholas felt a shiver—her gaze was so wide-eyed that he thought she might be shocked or upset, and that she would refuse him. Then, abruptly, she took his hands in her own and looked up at him.

  “Nicholas,” she said and grinned at him. “I love you. I have always loved you, I think, from the day I met you. I want to spend my life with you, too. I accept what you have said. And, since he is here, you can ask my father.”

  Nicholas looked at her, dumbstruck. He had somehow not thought that it would be this easy, that he would not have to fight for her, after all. He stared into her eyes and his heart felt warm and he grinned and then bent down to kiss her.

  His lips met hers and he felt them part under his tongue and he knew he had never experienced anything so wonderful.

  “Martha,” he said softly. “I love you.”

  She grinned up at him. “I love you, too.”

  They looked at each other for another long moment and then went, hand in hand, to the drawing room.

  Amelia met them first. She was smiling at them, her eyes shining. She looked at Nicholas and then at Martha.

  “There you are,” she said to them. “I am so happy. I just spoke with Alton, and we…we want to wed next year.”

  Martha beamed at her and went to take her hands. She felt her heart fill with joy.

  “Oh, Amelia! I couldn’t be happier.” She embraced her sister and felt fresh tears streak her face. Though she had cried so much in one day, for so many happenings, nothing moved her like this.

  Amelia looked into her eyes. Her brown ones sparkled happily. “Congratulations, Martha,” she said. “I know you will be so happy.”

  “But…” Martha stammered. “But how did you…”

  Amelia laughed. “I guessed. I think anyone, seeing you together, would have guessed. Come on…let’s go to the drawing room. I promise I won’t tell Mama or Papa…it is your news to give them.”

  Martha smiled and looked up at Nicholas, who just nodded. He felt nervous, but he was sure that his fears were mostly unfounded. And Martha and Amelia were there, which made him feel, oddly, much bolder. He walked in with them and bowed to greet Lord and Lady Weston.

  When he had finished speaking with them—a discussion which was of some length—he went out to the garden. Martha was there and she went to him and took his hands in hers.

  “I spoke to them. Of course, they agreed with us,” he said with a smile.

  Martha looked up at him, eyes glowing. “That’s so wonderful,” she said softly.

  Nicholas smiled and nodded. “Yes, it is indeed—very wonderful.”

  Martha grinned at him. “I am so happy.”

  “I am, too. The happiest man in the entire world.”

  Martha giggled and rested a hand on his shoulder and together they stood and looked out over the garden. Nicholas took her hand in his and held it and felt joy fill hi
s heart. He could not wait for their life together to start.

  Chapter 38

  Martha looked at her reflection in the mirror. She felt her stomach twist with excitement. She was wearing a long silk gown, the skirt reaching to the tops of her shoes. The bodice had a square neckline and puff sleeves, and it was decorated with gold thread that was stitched to make tiny patterns on the fabric. She didn’t have more than a moment or two to admire the effect, or how the color brought out the hazel of her eyes, as Amelia raced into the room.