But she would not blame Ben if he chose to accept her rejection as final. He could move on and find someone else. They’d be queuing up to get their hands on him now.
Around the corner, the site of the problem was obvious. Statues were erected at regular intervals along the parapet, but one was missing, as obvious as an absent tooth. Dorothea quickened her pace until she reached the empty plinth. The area was wider here, a good couple of yards. Slipping out of Ben’s hold, Dorothea went to examine it.
The stone was weathered, pockmarks denting the rough surface. But there was something... Dorothea bent closer to examine it.
“It was a cherub,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“The statue that fell. A cupid. My grandfather had these put up when he renovated the south front. The statues are supposed to be the Virtues, with cherubs between them.”
He did not come to join her. “See this,” she said, pointing out what she’d found.
Footsteps approached them from the other direction.
“Major Thorpe!”
William and two menservants hurried to where they stood. “I saw the thing fall past my window. Was anybody hurt?”
Dorothea peered over the edge. Servants were clearing up the mess below. “Only a cherub.”
The major let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank God! Where is my brother?”
“On his way to London by now, I assume,” Ben said coolly. “This is probably nothing but an unfortunate accident.”
Dorothea bridled. “How can you say that? Besides, there is some evidence here it was anything but accidental.” She addressed the footmen. “Go around the whole roof and see if you can find something that could be used as a lever. A metal implement, a crowbar perhaps.”
One of the men bowed and hurried away.
Dorothea nodded, and turned back to her discovery. “Look at these marks. Someone has made deep grooves in the stone, and they are fresh. There are scratches, too, someone trying to push something under the statue.”
William came closer, and touched the stone, his fingers grazing hers. “You’re right. Someone was up here recently. We passed nobody on the stair.” He glanced at her, his eyes cold. “There are four staircases leading up here, one for each corner of the building, and two narrower places of access, more ladders than steps.”
“So anybody could have come and gone without being seen.” She sighed. “We saw nobody, either.”
Ben was standing as far away from the edge as possible. “I ordered the carriage for Louis changed. He took the wrong one, so there would have been a delay.” He closed his mouth with a sharp snap of teeth and glanced at the remaining footman. “Not a word.”
“N-no, my lord.” The man paled. “I swear.”
If Ben’s words got into the servants’ hall, only one person could have carried them there.
Ben jerked his head and the footman scurried away.
Fresh marks scored a garish white in the weathered stone, and there was only one way they could have been made.
The statue was toppled deliberately.
Which meant... “Either the person who did this did not care if their attempt was discovered, or it was an impulsive act done on the spur of the moment,” she commented.
The old stone was porous. A few scrapes and scuffs would have taken care of the marks, at least to a casual observer. And yet, there they were, deep, fresh grooves with no attempt at concealment.
As she spoke, a rumbling sound came from the side of the building and headed toward the front of the house. Wheels on gravel. The second carriage had been harnessed and Louis was on his way.
The three exchanged meaningful looks. No need for anyone to comment. Louis flew into rages and made impulsive decisions he might later come to regret.
“You should bring him back,” William said into the heavy silence.
Ben shook his head. “That will achieve nothing.”
“What if he flees the country?”
As you did. Nobody said it, but they might as well have. Retribution for what Louis had made Ben do seven years ago. And serve him right. He would doubtless have to flee before long, once his creditors had caught up with him.
Ben only shrugged, his broad shoulders a potent reminder of his physical strength. “He is welcome to do that, if he wishes. At least I’ll know he will not continue to oppose me.” He turned his head to meet her gaze. “We can do no more here. If Davies finds the crowbar, or whatever it was, I will let you know. Be that as it may, the attempt to push a statue onto my head was deliberate. Bear in mind that we do not know who did this thing. And even if we discover who did it, the person could be an agent of the real perpetrator.”
The major groaned and closed his eyes, leaning against the parapet, seemingly at ease. “You are right. But if that is true, if someone did this at Louis’s bidding, then the act was planned in advance.”
“That’s unlikely.” Both men glared at her, but undaunted, she continued to speak. “Nobody could know Ben would come out of the house or would stand in precisely that spot.”
The major’s eyes widened. “Did you not arrange to meet for a morning walk?”
Ben shook his head. “Although had I thought to do it, I would have asked her. No.”
He was right. This act was impulsive, something done quickly, taking advantage of a circumstance.
Major Thorpe pinched the bridge of his nose, then opened his eyes and met Ben’s steady regard. “If I can aid you in any way, please do not hesitate to come to me. I have long been disturbed by my brother’s behavior, but I could do little about it, being abroad with the army. I had planned to return.”
Dorothea moved to Ben’s side and hooked her arm through his, to support him. He’d gone quite pale. He began to walk back to the corner of the roof, breathing steadily. Too steadily. But Dorothea said nothing until they had descended the narrow staircase and once more stood in the corridor by the servants’ quarters.
“Come with me,” he said, and instead of continuing toward the family wing, opened a small door to one side.
Light filtered through dusty dormer windows onto a storage area. Furniture was ranked neatly against the wall opposite, covered with Holland sheets, giving the place an eerie quality.
Dorothea shivered, and as if acting automatically, Ben drew her into his arms. Resting her head against his broad chest, she wasn’t sure which of them was more agitated.
She’d nearly lost him.
It had taken a stone cherub to show her how much he meant to her. Far too much, for sure, but she couldn’t help that now. The thought of never seeing him again caused a suffocating sensation in her chest, as if she’d forgotten to breathe.
But she’d spurned him. He wouldn’t ask her again.
His heart thumped under her ear, the slight quiver it delivered a welcome reminder that he was still alive. “Thank you,” he said. “You were right. I hate heights. I have controlled the reaction, but I still detest it.”
“We all have something. Hmm. Do you think it was Louis?”
His arm curled around her back in a protective gesture she liked too much. “Probably. Or Honoria.”
When she lifted her head, gazing at him in astonishment, he smiled down at her and dropped a hard kiss against her lips. “What, you think her incapable of doing that? My dear, I have learned just how self-centered Honoria can be. She is unscrupulous...” He paused. “But she never knew anything else. She was indulged as a child, and she grew into an accredited beauty. Everyone loved her.”
“Including you.”
“I thought I did, but I learned otherwise soon enough.”
“Because of your wife.”
He touched her chin, tilted it up so she had to meet his steady gaze. “My first wife.” He wouldn’t let her look away. “She was my past. I want you to be my future.”
Although hearing that thrilled her, Dorothea reminded herself not to become carried away. “You could have anyone you want.”
“I choose you,” he said. Still no sign of doubt in those gray eyes. “This time, Dorothea, say yes. This is not our parents making a convenient arrangement. Only we decide this time.”
What else could she say? When that statue had smashed so close to him, so had her willpower. She couldn’t bear to lose him, because she loved him. So much. She gave a sigh of surrender. “Yes.”
“Just like that?” Tenderly, he turned her head, gazing down into her eyes.
“Just like that. Yes, Benedict Thorpe, I will marry you.”
He reached for her hand, playing with her fingers, gazing down at her face with soft but unmistakable desire.
Wonder infused her. She had said yes to being his wife, but he was giving her more. She would be a marchioness, a grande dame in the fullness of time, even a matriarch if God was good to her and gave her children.
Before she could speak, he kissed her. Cupping the back of her head, he sealed their promises with a kiss to remember.
Eventually, after an untold length of time, he lifted his head. His gaze had softened, and he was smiling, his lips fuller than usual. “We’ll tell the others at dinner tonight. Then we may put up the banns and marry in three weeks’ time.”
“Three weeks?” The words came out in a squeak.
“Yes, why wait?” He grinned at her. “Sir James said he would prefer my marriage to be soon. The King wants an assured line. His majesty also informed me of that fact while I was in London.”
“Naturally,” she said softly. “But Ben, I’m thirty. I might never give you a child, and you need a son. You’d be better off with a younger woman.”
He clutched her tighter. “I don’t want a younger woman. I want you. You’ll help me make sense of this madness.”
But he deserved to have a chance to change his mind. “If you find a younger woman, one who would make a better marchioness, then you must tell me. Promise?”
“Promise. But I doubt I’ll find anyone better in three weeks. Or three years, come to that. Or thirty.”
He growled low and kissed her again. That seemed a suitable conclusion to their discussion.
Chapter 15
They announced their engagement to Schultz and let the butler do the rest. Before the hour was out, everybody knew Dorothea had accepted Ben’s proposal of marriage.
For the remainder of the day, Dorothea kept busy helping guests depart. Today marked the end of the visit Louis had invited them to. They would be eager to spread the word about the shocking events at Cressbrook House.
When Ben extended an invitation as a matter of courtesy, several guests opted to remain. Dorothea’s brother and sister-in-law remained, as did Lord Evington and Major Thorpe, Lord and Lady Norman, and to Dorothea’s surprise, Lord and Lady Steeping.
“I want to ensure poor Lady Honoria is all right,” she confided in Dorothea as they were standing in the great front hall. Her voice echoed around the vast space. “None of this is her fault, and she is deeply distressed. I will try to persuade her down to dinner tonight.”
Then for all her faults, the gossiping and the snide comments, Lady Steeping was a true friend. She’d chosen to stay with the distressed Lady Honoria rather than rush to the next country home on her summer visiting list to create gossip. Dorothea had to appreciate that.
“His lordship said we should eat informally,” she warned her.
Lady Steeping trilled a laugh, and Dorothea tried to suppress her wince at the high-pitched sound. Standing too close to this woman was painful. No wonder her husband kept his distance. “Oh, not too informally, I trust! I would hate for standards to slip! Such a pity Mr. Thorpe went off like that, just as his wife needed him, but he was ever so. No doubt he has gone ahead to prepare his estate for her. He inherited Thorpe Park from his father, you know, but he has neglected it in favor of caring for this estate.”
Dorothea turned to the stairs. “I believe Lord Belstead means to make matters easier for Lady Honoria to deal with her change of circumstances.”
Lady Steeping placed her hand on her slender bosom and heaved a sigh. “If only that were so! But the poor lady is completely distraught. Everything she thought to be true has betrayed her. She grew up at the heart of society, expected by all to have a great future with an important man, but now, this. She expected her husband to enter Parliament once he inherited the title he has been caretaker of for the past seven years. The application to the Chancellor was intended to be a formality, but it has turned out to be anything but. One must feel for her, dear Miss Rowland.” Her expectant smile emphasized her expectation that Dorothea would cause no trouble.
Dorothea seethed.
“I do believe that Mrs. Thorpe could be a great help to you,” her ladyship went on, oblivious to Dorothea’s growing anger. “If you go ahead with this impulsive marriage, which I do wish you would reconsider, you will need a great deal of assistance. This house will not run itself. Mrs. Thorpe has managed it with great success for the past seven years.”
Dorothea had had enough of staying silent. All her adult life she’d smiled while bleeding inside from another scratch inflicted by someone who thought they were better than her, more beautiful, the best height, wealthier. The heat of anger seethed inside her, as it had done so many times before. But she would not remain politely silent, or agree with this cat smiling sweetly at her, waiting for her response.
No more. She lifted her chin, heedless of the fact that Lady Steeping had to crane her neck to meet her eyes. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Thorpe has retired to her room, perhaps until her husband returns.” She paused, leaving the words “if he ever does” unsaid. She did not need to say them.
Lady Steeping, who had been drifting away, turned her head and gave Dorothea her full attention.
Dorothea smiled sweetly. “If she decides to join us, however, she will be most welcome. My betrothed has asked me to help him at this difficult time, and of course I will do everything I can to be of service.”
The Dorothea of years gone by might have said that, but not in the tone Dorothea used now. Did Lady Steeping think she sat in the corners of ballrooms and learned nothing? Or maybe she hadn’t thought at all about the forgotten and unwanted.
Time for the single ladies to shine, for Dorothea Rowland to become the woman she was meant to be. Whether she married Ben or not, she would make the most of what she had now, grasp it with both hands. Why shouldn’t she be the great lady? “While matters are so confused, I will act as the hostess of this house, because the marquess would have it so. He has much to arrange. I doubt you have noticed that this house has fallen into rack and ruin. There is much to do.”
After one shocked glance at her, as if the bird had bitten the cat, Lady Steeping turned in a circle, arms spread. The costly lace at her elbows fell in a graceful stream. “I see no rack and ruin.”
Dorothea was ready for her. “Dust lies on every surface, and the china is in sore need of a bath. The chandeliers have not been cleaned this age.” She raised a brow. “Or is this normal for you?”
Lady Steeping made a sound like “Humph,” a sort of feminine grunt. “No doubt Mrs. Thorpe has had much to think about. I’d say they kept the seat warm for his lordship to come home. Especially when we all thought he had died. Unfortunately, nobody could trace his body.”
“Because he had not died.” No need to continue. Her ladyship understood Dorothea’s point, and she would no doubt relay the message to Mrs. Thorpe. The throne had changed hands, from the regent to the king, so to speak.
“I cannot imagine why he did not come home.”
“I can.” Dorothea didn’t care to elaborate this time, but she had her suspicions. Ben had found a new life in Boston that suited him better. It was so simple. He’d decided to stay dead. But what had b
rought him back? He’d told her Lord Evington had kept in touch with him. Was it his wife? Had he wanted to leave that part of his life behind?
Sadness touched her, as it always did when she thought of poor Mary and her dead baby. Their loss must have broken Ben’s heart. So perhaps that had made up his mind for him. She would share none of that with Lady Steeping, who, after shooting Dorothea a poisonous glare, headed for the stairs.
Dorothea did not accompany her. Instead, she made her way to the small study she’d discovered in the ground-floor corridor close to the hall and collected a pad and pencil. The shafts of graphite had recently come into fashion and, bound with twine to prevent the mess coming off on the hands, were proving a useful instrument. She had her small wax tablets, tucked into her pocket before she left her room, but she needed something more substantial for what she planned to do.
A full list of requirements and tasks to be done, starting with this floor. Worn furniture, cracked glass, broken ornaments, clocks that hadn’t been wound recently, and everywhere a fine film of dust, except in the rooms used by the family. She would transcribe the lists later and show them to Ben and to Schultz. There was work to do.
If Dorothea went through with this absurd but welcome betrothal, she would have plenty to do.
Absorbed in her work, she lost all sense of time until Ben found her. She was poring over a collection of hideous china animals huddled together in a crooked cabinet in an anteroom on the other side of the hall when she heard, “There you are!” making her fumble with the creature she was currently holding.
It smashed to the floor. “There! Now I’ll never know if it was meant to be a sheep or a rabbit.”
“It was so bad?” He came to where she stood, staring at the shattered piece. “I remember those. My grandmother bought them from a peddler. How odd to find them here. I played with them when I was a boy. Rather roughly.” He picked up another figure, this one unmistakably human, though it was difficult to determine its sex. “This is the shepherd, and you dropped one of his flock.”
The Making of a Marquess Page 15
