Making Merry with the Marquess

by Lorraine Heath

  “There is much in life that we do not want, but we adjust.” He glanced over at the butler. “Inform the cook: a double heaping of dessert for each of the boys tonight.”

  “You don’t have many servants about,” Ashebury said. “Are you poor?”

  “Hardly. I don’t need them, and I don’t like having people around. Haven’t decided yet if I’m keeping you lot.”

  “Send us home. We don’t care,” Edward declared.

  “I can’t do that. I’d have to send you to a workhouse. Horrid place that. So you’d best behave.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “I’d wager that makes you the only one at the table who isn’t.”

  “Are you afraid?” Greyling asked.

  “Of course I am. Afraid I’ll let your fathers down. They were good men. I admired them very much. Someday I’ll tell you stories about them.”

  “I want them to stay,” Locke announced. “If you let them stay, I won’t climb the shelves anymore.”

  “Did you think that was up for negotiation?”

  Locke nodded, his hair flopping onto his brow. Chuckling, Marsden ruffled the dark strands. “You don’t even know what negotiation means. Anyway, I suspect they’ll be staying. For a while.”

  Following dinner, he handed them over to Sarah and then began his walk over the moors. The hairs on the nape of his neck rose, and he imagined that the boys were watching from a window. He was grateful when he was finally beyond their sight. He didn’t need anyone to see him speaking as though to himself. He’d made the mistake of asking a few of the servants if they’d seen his wife wandering about. One of the reasons that he had only a handful of servants now was that few wanted to be associated with a madman.

  So be it. His and Locke’s needs were simple. The lads who had come to him today would have to adjust.

  He reached the oak tree and stood before her grave. Her presence was strongest here. “Dear God, Linnie, you were right. I have four boys. Ashebury’s and Greyling’s sons.”

  “I know,” she said. “They’re afraid.”

  “They want to run off. At least one of them does. I’ll have to keep a close watch until they realize they can’t escape as they’ve nowhere else to go, no way to survive.” He shook his head. “What am I going to do with four boys?”

  “Love them.”

  “You were the one who was so good at loving.”

  “You’ll be a good father to them. You understand the pain of loss, but they also need softness. They need a mother. It’s time for you to move on, my love. To take another wife.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d urged him to marry. They’d argued about it on more than one occasion. “I will never love another. You own my heart. I saw what being unloved did to my mother. I would never ask another to suffer as she did.”

  “You would be kind to her and generous.”

  “But I would not love her and she would know it.” He shook his head. “I haven’t got it in me to be that cruel. The lads won’t lack for a woman’s touch. Sarah will spoil them well enough. I suspect Cook will slip them biscuits and sweets.”

  “You’re a stubborn man, George.”

  “I adopted my wife’s trait for stubbornness.”

  “You need to lock the doors and windows.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

  “To keep me out.”

  “I like you coming into the residence.”

  “And I enjoy visiting with you there, but I don’t want to frighten the lads. It’ll be easier on me if I’m not tempted to go in.”

  “I miss you so damned much, Linnie.”

  “I’m here, George. I’m always here.”

  But he couldn’t hold her or kiss her or make love to her. “Do you remember the rainy afternoon when we made love in the music room?”

  She smiled. “On top of the piano.”

  “And beneath it. Sometimes I think that’s my favorite day, but then I’ll remember another. We had some good days, Linnie. And nights. I don’t know if that makes being separated from you harder or easier.” He sighed. “I don’t know if I have it in me to raise these lads.”

  “You do. You’re stronger than you realize.”

  “Only as long as I have you.”

  “You’ll always have me.”

  Chapter 11

  Christmas Day

  1887

  It’s time, my love.

  He awoke to the softly whispered words and the echo of ticking clocks.

  With a sense of peace and contentment rolling through him, he threw aside the covers and climbed out of bed. For the first time in years, he wished he had a valet to see him properly groomed and dressed, but he’d make do. It had been a long while since he’d given such care to his appearance. He took a razor to his face and a brush to his hair.

  He began donning his finest attire. He wanted everything perfect for her. He always had. Even if now he was bent and wrinkled, he could still dress sharply.

  He thought he should have been frightened or wary, but all he felt was calm. And gladness. He was going to be with his Linnie again.

  He walked out of his bedchamber and down the stairs into the foyer. He glanced into the parlor at the decorated tree and the boughs of evergreen hanging along the mantel. This residence was indeed a happy place, perhaps even happier than it had ever been. All of his boys had fallen in love and married. Locke had been the last. He’d required a little nudging, which Marsden had provided. Portia was a remarkable woman, perfect for his heir. She’d given Locke a daughter and a son. They’d soon be tearing through the residence, wondering what Father Christmas had brought them. Later in the morning, one of the servants would be placing two crates, each holding a rambunctious puppy, beneath the tree. His family would find joy today, even if it was mixed with a bit of sorrow.

  He strode out into the dawn. Snow was gently falling, but he didn’t regret leaving his coat behind. He was immune to the chill, traveling a familiar path, one that had always brought him solace.

  In the distance, he saw the towering oak, its branches spread wide. For a brief moment, in his mind, he saw himself as a boy sitting up there, a mischievous girl beside him. Within his chest, his heart thumped more forcefully than it ever had before. He stumbled, righted himself, and carried on.

  He reached the graveside with its solitary marker. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, lowered himself to the ground, pressing one side of his face to the cold earth, his fingers touching the icy marble. “I’m here, Linnie. I’m here, my love.”

  Closing his eyes, he waited for what was to come.

  He felt the tender touch on his cheek, gentle but firm, and the warmth spread throughout his body. Opening his eyes, he saw her crouched beside him, more vivid than she’d been since her death. Her blue eyes were sparkling, her smile bright. The gladness that swept through him would have brought him to his knees if he were standing. Pushing himself up so he was sitting, he cradled her cheek. Solid, warm, so real.

  “You’re as beautiful as you were on the day we wed,” he said. “And I’m so old and wrinkled—”

  “No, you’re not. In my eyes, you never aged.”

  He noticed his hand then. The once gnarled and bent fingers were straight, the wrinkles absent. Only now did he notice that his aching bones no longer ached. He was as he’d once been.

  Linnie arose and extended her hand. He placed his in it and shoved himself to his feet. She began to lead him away.

  They’d taken perhaps a dozen steps, when he stopped. He could no longer stand it. He’d waited more than thirty-five years. She looked up at him with questioning eyes. He drew her close and lowered his lips to hers.

  The sweetness of it, the warmth of her mouth opening to him nearly undid him. Memories assailed him of every kiss they’d ever shared. She still tasted of oranges. Smelled of them as well. He’d always loved that about her, but then he’d loved everything about her.

  Pulling back slightly, he rested his forehead
against hers. “How is this possible? You feel so real, so solid.”

  “You’re with me now. Truly with me.”

  He’d known, of course, yet still he gazed over his shoulder to see his earthly form lying prone over her grave. No remorse, no regrets, no sadness touched him. He turned back to her. “I’ve missed you, Linnie.”

  “I never left you, George.”

  “I know, but we weren’t together like this.”

  She cradled his cheek. “You should have remarried. Long ago.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “It was always you, Linnie. I know you worried about me being alone, but the years passed swiftly and I would wait through them all again for you. You alone bring me happiness.”

  “And now we shall have an eternity of it,” she said softly.

  Placing her hand in his, they began walking toward the copse of trees. Voices caught his attention and he glanced back to see Locke and Portia, kneeling beside him.

  “I shall miss our son and Portia. And the grandchildren.”

  “We’ll check in on them from time to time. They’re going to have wonderful lives.”

  He gazed down on her serene face. “How do you know? Another premonition?”

  She smiled. “No, but you ensured they have a good foundation. You helped Locke learn to love. The residence is filled with warmth and joy again.”

  “And ticking clocks. That will no doubt drive Locke mad.”

  “At first perhaps, but he’ll grow accustomed to it.”

  She was probably right. She tended to be right about everything. He didn’t want to watch his children grieving—especially as there was no reason for sadness. At long last, he was with the woman he loved.

  “What awaits us now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, my love. I’ve been waiting for you before moving on. Shall we go exploring?”

  Slipping his arm around her waist, he turned and began escorting her toward the trees, toward eternity. Never again would they be apart.

  “I love you, Linnie,” he whispered.

  “As well you should, m’lord.”

  Laughing, he gathered her up in his arms, anxious to share with her the adventures that awaited them.

  Epilogue

  Havisham Hall

  Killian St. John, the seventh Marquess of Marsden, claimed not to believe in ghosts, spirits, or hauntings. So it was an odd thing indeed for a man such as he to arrange for an orchestra to play in the balcony of the empty ballroom through the night in near darkness every Christmas Eve. No matter how chilly the weather, the doors to the ballroom were left open.

  It was rumored, that on occasion, if one looked very closely with an open heart, one would see the faint silhouette of a couple waltzing in the moonlight that poured in through the windows and if one listened very carefully one would hear the tinkling of laughter followed by whispered words of love.

  Excerpt from An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

  Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt to New York Times bestselling author Lorraine Heath’s

  AN AFFAIR WITH A NOTORIOUS HEIRESS

  The son of a duke and an infamous mother, Alistair Mabry, Marquess of Rexton, fought his way to respectability. Now, the most eligible bachelor in London, marriage-shy Rexton will take only a wife with an impeccable reputation, good breeding, and a penchant for staying out of the gossip sheets. But when he strikes a deal to be seen “courting” a sweet young debutante whose notorious older sister has blemished her chances for marriage, Rexton is unexpectedly drawn to the highly inappropriate, calamitous Tillie, Lady Landsdowne, herself.

  After a scandalous incident that sent shockwaves throughout society and disgraced her, Tillie refuses to cower in the face of the ton. Instead, she will hold her head high as she serves as chaperone for her younger sister. But Tillie is convinced Rexton’s courtship is shrouded with secrets—ones she vows to uncover. However doing so requires getting dangerously close to the devilishly handsome and forbidden marquess…

  Available May 2017!

  Chapter 1

  London

  1882

  “Allow me the honor of introducing Lady Margaret Sherman …”

  “Allow me to introduce Lady Charlotte …”

  “… Lady Edith …”

  “… Miss …”

  “… Lady …”

  The introductions of a new crop of debutantes became a blur of bright eyes, hopeful smiles, dangling dance cards, fluttering eyelashes, and waving fans. Yet Alistair Mabry, Marquess of Rexton, future Duke of Greystone, suffered through it all with gentlemanly aplomb, wishing to be anywhere other than where he was: his sister’s infernal ball. Considering the mad crush of people who attended any affair hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon, he was rather certain he wouldn’t be missed—except by the mamas who considered him—at the age of nine and twenty—prime marriage material for one of their daughters, rather convinced he was in want of a wife despite the fact he had, on numerous occasions, indicated quite forcefully the opposite. His father was in good health. His mother had provided a spare, so Rexton was truly in no rush to become shackled.

  He carried on polite conversations because Grace had asked him not to immediately disappear into the male-only domain of the card room. Once it became obvious senseless banter was all he was willing to grant, the ladies slowly drifted away like so many delicate petals on a summer breeze, dance cards minus his signature dangling from their limp wrists. Because he’d promised Grace an hour of his presence in the grand parlor and a mere forty minutes had passed, in order to stay true to his word, he wandered to a far corner populated with only ferns.

  Watching the proceedings carried out before him, he couldn’t deny that as much as he detested grand affairs, he was intrigued by the secretive games played, and it was to his benefit to remain in the good graces of the aristocracy because at some point, he would indeed be searching for a wife, one with an impeccable reputation, good breeding, and a penchant for staying out of the gossip sheets. While his own family had withstood numerous scandals, the process of deflecting censure was wearisome and he had no desire whatsoever to spend the remainder of his life serving as titillating fodder for the gossips. He’d made it a habit to be above reproach, which made him one of the more boring members among his family and friends, but it was advantageous to be considered dull. He wasn’t scrutinized very closely which meant he was free to do as he pleased within the shadows. And within the shadows, life was never dull.

  “Lord Rexton.”

  He turned slightly, having no wish to offend the older man. Garrett Hammersley, an American by birth, had embraced England as his own when he moved to London in order to oversee his family’s firearms operations. Opening a factory in England had allowed them to claim the business as an international venture, which had added significantly to their stock value. Their subsequent wealth had given him entry into the more elite circles. Their paths crossed from time to time, mostly at the horse races. He was in possession of something Rexton coveted, and his recent attempts to convince the man to part with it had disappointingly failed. “Hammersley.”

  “Say, old chap, I was wondering if I might bother you for a tiny favor.”

  Rexton smiled inwardly. Favors usually came with a price. The question was: Would Hammersley pay his? “What did you have in mind?”

  “My young niece, my dear departed brother’s daughter, has just had her coming out. Unfortunately, I need someone to help wash off the blemish of her scandalous older sister. I was hoping you’d be willing to step up to the task.”

  Rexton knew the older sister only by reputation. Making quite the splash when she arrived in London a few years earlier, she’d caught the eye of the Earl of Landsdowne and their fairy-tale courtship had captured the attention of most of Britain. A few years after they wed, she had engaged in a notorious public affair that had left Landsdowne with no choice except to divorce her, which had resulted in further scandal because those in the aristocracy worth their salt si
mply did not divorce under any circumstances. Knowing what it was to be touched by scandal, he had empathy for the younger sister, but he rather suspected teaching her to box wasn’t going to help her situation. “I don’t really see how I can be of service.”

  Hammersley brushed his fingers over his thick sprinkled-with-gray mustache, twice one way, twice the other. “You are the most sought after bachelor in London, and have the respect of your peers. You’re also known to have excellent taste in women and horses. If you were to show some interest in the girl—”

  “I’m not looking to marry just yet.” His compassion went only so far.

  “No, no, of course not. I don’t expect you to lead her to the altar. But if you were to dance with her, perhaps take her on an outing to Hyde Park, be seen with her as it were, it might serve to pique the other gents’ curiosity. I’m certain once they take an interest in her, they will be charmed as she is a most charming girl. She has none of her sister’s … flaws, shall we say?”

  Flaws? The inability to remain faithful? To publicly cuckold her husband? To divorce a man whose lineage could be traced back to William the Conqueror? Americans certainly had a way of understating the faults of a calamitous woman. “I’m afraid you’ll need to turn elsewhere for assistance on this matter; ask another gent.”

  “Damn it, man, no one else has your influence. The younger swells work to emulate you. They’ll follow your lead. Take some pity on the poor girl. I promised my brother on his deathbed I would see her well situated, and she’s enamored of the nobility.”

  “So was her sister from what I understand.”

  “In temperament they are nothing alike. Mathilda was always too strong-willed to be ruled. But Gina, bless her heart, is a shy wallflower for whom hope springs eternal. I have to do something to spark awareness of her. And I’ve deduced you’re the ticket.”

  Tickets came at a cost. “A dance, you say, and an afternoon at the park?”

  “Not much more than that, I should think. Truly, she’s a remarkable girl.”