The Making of a Marquess

by Lynne Connolly

  “Because of the mourning and funeral arrangements, of course. Nothing must detract from Louis’s passing.”

  And it would not. Having a lavish ceremony and wedding breakfast would be the worst of bad taste. But marry he would. “We must discover who did this awful thing, Honoria.”

  Her mouth tightened, and she swallowed, as if fighting back tears. “I know. I will be brave. Pray let the magistrate know that I will see him once we have made the arrangements for the funeral. But I wish you to be with me. Ben, I cannot bear it without you. Be by my side, my love.”

  Those two words, “my love,” were not said fondly, or with a remembrance of what had once lain between them. No, she said them almost unconsciously, as if used to saying them.

  Ben’s soul filled with horror. She could not imagine—he’d made his situation clear. “I will ensure that either William or myself will be with you when you see the magistrate, and the vicar. But Dorothea can accompany you for at least one of those meetings.” He would ask her. She had offered to help, and that would keep a suitable distance between Honoria and himself.

  “Thank you. But I want you, Benedict. I always did.”

  Ben listened, appalled. Her husband’s body was barely cold, but he did not mistake the way she looked at him now. With barely veiled desire, her eyes sultry, her lips slightly parted. “Lady Dorothea is hardly the kind of person to endear you to Sir James. You must know that. But we could solve this terrible problem for good and all. If you married me, we would unite the two branches of the family and put an end to the dispute.”

  How could she even think such a thing, much less say it?

  Another suspicion crossed his mind. Had Honoria wanted Louis dead? He already knew she would say anything to get her own way. Dorothea had mentioned her as a possible suspect for the murder. Perhaps she was right.

  If they had argued, surely someone would have heard them. Slipping a knife between Louis’s ribs in the dead of night was not an act Ben would associate with Honoria, but he would not discount it. Whoever had killed him, either they had done it when Louis was in a sound sleep, or it was someone he trusted, because there were no defensive cuts on his hands and arms, no sign of him fighting back.

  She sighed and touched her handkerchief to her eyes again. “I adored my darling Louis. But I adore you, too, Ben. I always have. My dilemma was that I could never choose between you. First one, then the other. Now only you are left. I have to think of the future for the sake of my girls. For myself, I care little.”

  He doubted that. He dropped another reminder into the mix to gauge her response. “Louis seemed to think I was illegitimate. A bastard.”

  Honoria winced, probably at his blatant use of the word, rather than the concept. “What if there was something that proved your legitimacy?”

  Like the pages cut from the family record book? “How could that happen?”

  “If your parents married twice. There was mention of a second wedding shortly after the first, was there not?”

  So she knew. Louis had confided in her.

  Only one clear answer remained. She had seen the papers, perhaps had a hand in concealing them. If she helped to hide them, then he might be able to winkle the truth out of her.

  He would behave like an innocent, since that would feed her sense of superiority. “A second wedding? Are you sure?”

  “Indeed I am. The neighbors frequently spoke of it.”

  “Oh.” So he had another line to follow. Verbal corroboration. The villagers had welcomed him back, especially when he’d started renovations on their cottages instead of merely promising to do it. He could easily find some upstanding people to support the theory, but he wanted the truth, not people who would say what he wanted in order to please him. There would be no mistake this time, and with Dorothea by his side, he would accept either fate offered to him, to be Mr. Thorpe, a wealthy merchant from Boston, or the Marquess of Belstead. “Surely that means nothing?”

  “It could.” She gave a small, wavering smile, no doubt intending to encourage him. “I’m sure I could find someone to prove your legitimacy. Enough evidence to satisfy that prosy Sir James, at any rate.”

  Or bribe someone, if he agreed to marry her. Then she’d attain her longed-for goal of becoming the marchioness.

  He could find his own witnesses. He was still temporarily in charge of the estate, and while Honoria might not realize it, that gave him the whip hand. So did simple acts of kindness, which he’d undertaken with no thought of reward. Without waiting for Sir James to make his decision for the second time, he’d ordered repairs to the tenants’ cottages. Other improvements were on the way, like the reopening of the home farm.

  He’d sent his man of business on a tour around the holdings and property belonging to the marquessate before reporting here. The account would arrive fairly soon, or at least an interim one. Had Louis squeezed the other properties dry?

  “Do you know where the records of my parents’ second marriage are?”

  She shrugged, her pale shoulders peeking seductively through the finest of gauze fichus. “As I recall, Louis said he had them safe. That is all I remember.”

  “I would not like to deprive William of his birthright, if it turns out that he is the true heir.”

  He watched her expression tighten, and he knew he was right.

  Honoria had designs to become the marchioness, but she couldn’t marry her brother-in-law. Therefore, she would do all she could to defer Ben’s wedding to Dorothea and claim the place for herself, while ensuring Ben got the title.

  Had she ever loved Louis at all? How could she, when she was already scheming? He could not accuse her of thinking of her daughters, because she’d barely mentioned them.

  He got to his feet. “I must be tiring you, Honoria. I’ll leave you to rest.”

  When he bowed over her fingers, she clutched his hand. “Don’t leave me, Ben. Please.” Her desperation showed in her low, quick tones. “We can be together now. We have both suffered much over the last seven years, but finally, we can have the happy ending destiny always intended for us.”

  He could walk away, but she would only pursue him. Best to have this out now. He took his seat again. “We’re both very different people now, Honoria.” He kept his voice low and nonthreatening, although he wanted to rave at her for her deep selfishness. Had she no thought for her children, or how he must feel, losing his cousin after such a long time apart?

  Obviously not.

  “We’re the same here.” Honoria pressed a hand under her rib cage in a dramatic gesture. “We know what we’ve always known. We both married others, but now that is over.”

  “Yes, with the death of my wife and son,” he reminded her.

  “But you did not love her, not as you loved me. Remember our words the day we parted?”

  Oh God. Yes, he did. “The words of a foolish, indulged youth who had never experienced the real world. We were both young. Can we not leave the matter there?”

  A lone tear trickled down the side of her face, glistening in the low light of the candles. “Our hearts do not change. Our souls are still bound, just as you said then.” She drew her hand away from her chest and reached for him.

  He did not accept her invitation. “I’ve learned much since then. Souls are not eternally bound, and hearts do change.”

  “And your heir?” Her voice hardened. “You will not get an heir on Dorothea Rowland. She is thirty. Or didn’t you know that? Did she keep that from you? Far too old to have a first child. Then what will you do? Rely on William to provide you with an heir? I doubt that will come to pass. He’s nearly forty, and he shows no sign of settling down, even though his father arranged several good matches for him.”

  Ben remembered the “good matches.” He wouldn’t have taken any of them, either. They had been chosen primarily for the connections they could bring to the fa
mily. If William was to provide an heir, he had to have a hand in choosing his own bride. But Honoria had allowed her long-suffering, stately demeanor to slip. Accusing Dorothea of infertility was not the right way to persuade him. He played along. “You mean I should find a young girl fresh out of the schoolroom to give me a quiverful of heirs?”

  “No. Who knows what some untried miss can or can’t do?” Honoria shook her head. “You were never so foolish. I have proved myself, and I am four years younger than Miss Rowland. My two daughters need a father, and I need a husband.” She bit her lip, the plump flesh marked as she released it. An interesting flirtation for someone assumed to be mourning her husband.

  “There is a great deal of work to be done on the estate, and not much money to do it with. Your portion is gone.” That had been spent during her marriage. Squandered. He put his own fortune aside. Let her think it was spoken for.

  He held out the bait, waiting for her to take it.

  She did not disappoint him. He knew as soon as the gleam appeared in her fathomless blue eyes, and the muscles twitched at the corners of her mouth as she suppressed her smile. “As to that, a few seasons in town should take care of the money problem. A government position, along with some judicial investment, would bring many riches. My uncle is running the triangle. You know how hard that is to get into, but I could do it. And you have a few ships, do you not?”

  Ben shuddered. “Yes, but I don’t engage in the slave trade.” True, it was lucrative, but he had decided firmly that he would not make money by selling other people. More than once he’d been castigated for his decision, but spices, tea, porcelain, and silk worked well for him. And he could sleep at night. He’d toured an empty vessel, and he’d never get the stink of the unwashed people forced to sleep in their own mess out of the back of his throat.

  “I’ve heard it’s the most lucrative trade to be had.”

  He shrugged. “I daresay.” He didn’t want to get into an argument about it, not now.

  “We need to consider how to speed up the repairs to the estate.”

  That angered him. “Why should you care? You won’t be the marchioness.” He got to his feet. “My dear, I left our connection behind years ago. I wish you well, especially at such a sad time, but I’m telling you now. Tend to your children and consider moving to your late husband’s estate.”

  He bowed and left, ignoring her pleas to return, to talk to her, to take care of her. As he reached the door and opened it, she wailed, “But what shall I do?”

  Dorothea would never ask that. She would plot her path and take it. He’d had a lucky escape.

  Chapter 24

  Dorothea glanced at the library door when it opened and smiled in welcome. Ben came over to the big table where Angela had spread out her books. Her man of business, Mr. Snell, awarded Ben a small bow, which he returned.

  The niceties attended to, Ben turned to the books. Dorothea didn’t like his expression, a frown lining his forehead, even though he smiled at her with obvious pleasure. And relief? Why would she see that?

  Later, she would ask him. For now, they had other concerns. Making room for him to stand between herself and Dorothea, Angela pointed at the page. “This is the reckoning as of today for the debts incurred by your cousin against the marquessate. I would ask you not to turn the page. Some of this is confidential, even from you, but this concerns the estate you are likely to inherit, and the requests on its behalf.”

  “Shouldn’t William be here?” he asked. “He is a potential heir, after all.”

  “I sent a message,” Angela said. “He has not yet arrived, or sent word to us, but we do not have all day.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel, a large model with a suitably impressive tick. “We must change for dinner soon. However, I wanted to show you these. If the major wishes to see the papers, they are available to him.”

  Three large leather-bound tomes lay open on the table, and a pile of letters was neatly stacked above them.

  “If we do not have much time, then I will be guided by you, although I am tolerably familiar with account books and inventories. More than I used to be.” Ben shot Dorothea a quick glance.

  “This is an account of the Cressbrook estate, house, and contents,” Angela said, indicating one book with the tip of her carefully manicured finger. “Louis Thorpe sent it to us with a request for a mortgage on the unentailed parts of the property, to be enacted when he inherited. Alternatively, he asked for a loan, with the estate as security.”

  She indicated another ledger. “This is a list of the debts Mr. Thorpe took out. These are not just the ones with us, but also with other banks. He didn’t seem to be aware that we communicate with each other from time to time. When Stickland’s Bank became concerned with the number of debts, the owner contacted me. We made a list, which we share.”

  Ben whistled through his teeth. “That’s an enormous amount. What on earth did he want all that for?”

  “Gambling?” Mr. Snell suggested.

  “Not one of my cousin’s vices,” Ben said. “And as far as I know, Honoria didn’t gamble either. Oh, that is, they both played at the tables, but neither wagered much above the ordinary. When we were younger, both brothers gambled large sums at the tables. It was the reason William had a commission bought for him—to get him away from the gaming hells of London. Since his return, he has shown no propensity to gamble for high stakes. Neither has Louis, recently.” Ben bit his lip.

  “And yet, these amounts are staggering for someone who didn’t gamble,” Angela pointed out.

  “Indeed.” Ben’s frown lines deepened as he scanned the closely written columns. “He has spent money on some extravagant items, like the dinner service, but even that doesn’t account for these sums.”

  Angela sighed. “He did not trade on the markets, either. While we aren’t aware why he borrowed so much, we had, as a group, decided to lend him no more.” She indicated the other ledger. “Hence the request for a mortgage. He needed to provide security for the next loan. Which we would not have granted him.”

  “Even if he’d become the marquess?” Ben queried.

  “Even then. It was my decision. I don’t want any part in breaking up a great estate. He’d had the smaller properties valued, too. If he had not perished yesterday, he would have secured his mortgage. Not with me, but there are other lenders with fewer scruples. There would have been little to pass on to the next marquess.”

  “So I see. I have returned just in time.” He leaned forward. “There’s a marked increase in the last two years. More amounts, closer together.”

  “That was when he dismissed half the domestic staff,” Dorothea pointed out.

  Had Louis hidden something? Did he have a reason for the increase in the loans?

  “Perhaps,” Dorothea said slowly, “he had taken all he could from the estate without inheriting it, and needed to find money elsewhere.”

  Angela nodded. “But why? Louis’s only extravagance seems to have been his love of fine arts. He invested heavily in statues, paintings, and the like—”

  “And gold-plated porcelain dinner services from China,” Dorothea added.

  “Indeed,” Angela said. “If he carried on in the same vein, he’d have ruined the estate in a few years.”

  Ben’s proximity gave Dorothea the most remarkable sense of safety, as if he could shelter her from the rest of the world.

  Those numbers were truly shocking. Shuffling through the letters, she found the one she wanted Ben to see. He took it from her. “This is the original letter requesting a mortgage,” she said. She picked up another. “And this is a note from Louis in his own hand, requesting ten thousand pounds.”

  Despite the elegant flourishes taught when learning to write, one thing was clear. “These aren’t in the same handwriting,” he said. “Did he have a secretary?”

  “No, and it’s not Mrs. Thorpe’s wr
iting, either,” Mr. Snell put in. He lifted his gaze, and being nearly as tall as Ben, could look him in the eye. “We’re not sure who wrote that. It might be a trivial matter, but we like details, and pay great attention to them.” He smiled, his thin lips stretching as if unaccustomed to the practice. “I thank you for the guest room here. It’s most welcome.”

  “Naturally, you should stay here. And I expect to see you at dinner tonight.”

  Mr. Snell’s nostrils flared, and since he had a nose as hooked as a parrot’s, that was quite a sight. Dorothea tried not to stare. “Is that wise?” Snell asked. “I am not of your company.”

  Ben laughed. “That’s a delicate way of saying the guests here consider themselves superior. Well, I value the work of a man like you. I am not entirely free of the shop floor myself, and proud of it, too. Please don’t stay away because of a few narrow-minded individuals. We won’t be using much pomp, and I doubt we’ll linger long over the port, in deference to my cousin.”

  “Then I will be delighted to attend,” Snell said, and that was settled.

  * * * *

  Sunday came and went, much more rapidly than Dorothea had expected. Although she still shared Ben’s bed, he insisted they wore their usual nightclothes, and while he kissed her, he refused to go any further. “We have gone a week without making love because of your—condition. I want to make tomorrow night as memorable as possible.”

  In the darkness, Dorothea’s cheeks heated. Her wedding night. She’d never expected it to arrive.

  And yet here she was, on her wedding day.

  At dawn she went back to her own room, and rose at seven. She dressed modestly. While nobody expected them to wear deep black for mourning, and in any case, she had no such garments in her wardrobe, she did bear Louis’s tragic death in mind when she found a gown of dark green, embroidered in black, with a petticoat of the same fabric. The ruffles at the hem were scalloped, adding a little touch of festivity to her appearance. The foaming white lace at her elbows and neck, together with the filmy lawn fichu, created an air of subdued festivity.