The Wrong Marquess

by Vivienne Lorret

  “So soon? But it’s still early morning and the weather doesn’t appear to be in our favor and this is all quite unexpected,” she said in a flustered rush and he could see the enticing flush of her cheeks even in the dark recesses of the carriage. “I’m not entirely sure what my aunts have planned and . . . Oh, but wait. I just recalled we have a prior engagement.”

  “Come now, Miss Parrish,” he said with a tsk, “you need to be more convincing than that. It’s far too late to begin playing coy with me. Besides, I’m quite determined to ignore any and all missishness.”

  She sobered at once and scoffed. “Playing coy, indeed. I’m hardly a member of your gaggle, Lord Conceit. The truth of the matter is, my aunts and I have already accepted an invitation to tour the Zoological Society Gardens.”

  “Clearly, the holder of your obligation does not know that you were recently injured. I’m sure, whoever this person may be would readily postpone this outing for another day,” he challenged with a flick of his brow, already feeling triumphant.

  She held his gaze and said, matter-of-fact, “Oh, he knows.”

  “He?”

  “Mmmhmm,” she hummed with a decidedly smug nod. “I already assured him that I am hale enough. It would be unpardonably rude of me to accept another invitation.”

  Brandon studied her with acute scrutiny, remembering a similar expression the night he’d asked her to dance and she’d gladly refused him. He’d seen it at the park last week, as well. “And would this be George, by any chance?”

  The same mysteriously invisible man who never claimed his waltz, nor bothered to appear in his phaeton? Who apparently had no surname or title?

  The more he thought about it, the more he was inclined to believe that George had been invented by Miss Parrish to put Brandon in his place. And now, she must have felt the need to continue on with her charade. It was a ploy he could easily forgive since it did nothing to dampen his spirits.

  “You needn’t say his name in that manner,” she said.

  “I don’t know what you mean. That is how I’ve always said George.”

  She pointed at him, her eyes narrowing. “There it is again. Your Gs are very hard, indeed.”

  “Dreadful, I know. A failure of mine since my school days,” he agreed in mock self-reproach. “I was forever disappointing my elocution master. Oh, the knuckle-rapping reprimands I suffered whenever I spoke of our king, not to mention giants, giraffes, and especially gingerbread. Even now, years later, I still shudder.”

  “You’re being silly. From this point forward, I will not mention his name again in your presence.”

  Better and better, he thought, but nodded as if in solemn contemplation. “Likely for the best. It does make planning our picnic rather awkward.”

  “We are not having a picnic,” she declared, but the firmness of her argument was lost in the midst of her reluctant puff of laughter. “I’m going to peruse the animal cages and likely be trampled to death by the Brahmin bull. It will be in all the papers tomorrow—Unmarried Woman Dies Horrifically on First Expedition to the London Zoo.”

  “First expedition? That cannot be true. Meg and I have been a number of times and it seems that all of England is there, too.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve never been. I typically prefer events with far less likelihood of being crushed or eaten.”

  He was certain she was teasing, but the ludicrous portrait she painted just gave him an idea. Normally, he abhorred attending functions where society’s unmarried female population gathered in droves. Today, however, he was going to make an exception. Then he would see firsthand who this George was. Or rather, if the man existed at all.

  “Ah,” he answered vaguely. “Well then, I suppose our picnic will have to be postponed . . . for now.”

  After bidding adieu, he tipped his hat to her and walked on, knowing that both he and Meg would be seeing her far sooner than she expected.

  Chapter 7

  “Debutantes, be on your guard. Some gentlemen are little more than wild beasts in fine attire.”

  —A note for The Marriage Habits of the Native Aristocrat

  Within five seconds of stepping beneath the arch at the Zoological Society Gardens, Ellie knew that some sort of unexpected calamity was bound to happen. She hated arches. Their shape reminded her of gravestones. And, therefore, everything she saw from that point on was bound to make her think of her own demise.

  She wished George were here. A short while ago, he’d popped by the town house to tell them he’d thoughtlessly driven his high-perch phaeton without considering the number of passengers he would have. With a hapless shrug and a wink, he’d asked if they wouldn’t mind taking a hack and meeting him by the bear pit.

  By the bloodthirsty bear, of all things!

  Her aunts had agreed without batting an eye. And so here Ellie stood, separated from that very beast—and certain death—by a flimsy barrier of wrought iron fencing and a low stone wall.

  Eyeing the small rectangular enclosure with skepticism, she watched as the black furry creature scrambled up the pole in the center of his pen with alarming speed. No one told her that bears were so adept at climbing! What was to stop him from scaling the bars, escaping, and then eating the person who’d unthinkingly dressed herself in a walking costume the color of honey?

  Nervously, she retreated a step.

  Aunt Maeve and Aunt Myrtle returned from the nearby stall that sold little buns for the purpose of feeding the bear and elephant. Ellie didn’t even want to think about the elephant!

  Aunt Maeve studied the confection shrewdly. “Doesn’t seem natural to feed buns to a bear.”

  “Aren’t many wilderness buns that I know of,” Aunt Myrtle agreed, leaning in for a sniff. Then she pinched off a corner and sampled it. “Not half bad.”

  “A little on the dry side,” Maeve said, her lips undulating in appraisal. “But a pleasant enough flavor. Certainly better than those dust motes Lady Walmsley served us at tea the other day.”

  The bear shimmied halfway down the pole. His rapacious onyx eyes shifted to the bun her aunts were appraising, mouthful by mouthful. She could have sworn she heard the creature whimper with longing. Or perhaps that was her . . . because George was still nowhere in sight.

  “He’ll be here, dear,” Aunt Myrtle said, but her voice canted downward slightly in an unmistakable admission of doubt.

  Ellie pretended not to hear it. She responded with a hopeful nod and scanned the surroundings again.

  Not far beyond the llama exhibit, a crowd formed, clotting the thoroughfare that curved around the pond. She worried briefly that something wild was on the loose. It wasn’t unheard of, after all. Just two years ago there was an ill-fated elephant escape from the Exeter Exchange in all the papers. A shudder trampled through her, compelling her to sit on the stone wall.

  George, she thought crossly, why did it have to be the zoo?

  Absently, she glanced over her shoulder to the growling bear, only to be startled half out of her wits. The terrifying creature was right beside her! She leapt up with a squeak, gripping the handle of the parasol to defend herself in her last moments on this earthly plane. Death by exsanguination was surely only moments away!

  Standing in the pit on his hindlegs, Toby the bear reached up with his lethal paws and long, curling black claws toward a fallen cluster of crumbs at the wall’s edge.

  “Shoo! Shoo!” As she spoke, she pushed the crumbs with the tip of her parasol and into the kennel, watching as the bear sniffled the ground hungrily, exposing rows upon rows of sharp, debutante-devouring teeth. “You, sir, are a danger to society.”

  “Are you talking to that bear, Ellie?” a familiar voice asked from behind her.

  Meg. Ellie’s lips curved instantly. Just as quickly, and peculiarly, she also felt a thrill clamber through her at the thought of Lord Hullworth standing beside his sister. But no, no, no, she told herself. She should not be pleased to see him here. After all, his only reason for coming would be to
spy on her. And shame on him!

  However, instead of being perturbed, she was looking forward to scolding him. She did her best to hide her grin as she backed away from the pit and slowly turned. “I am, indeed. This bear deserves a proper setdown, much like your—”

  She stopped short when she found Meg, and only Meg, standing there.

  “My brother?” Meg asked, her blue eyes sparkling with undisguised mirth. “I couldn’t agree more. After the way he pounded on my door, and far too early this morning, he deserves to be throttled for waking me from a perfect slumber to inform me that we had an urgent appointment to keep. He bid me to make haste, returning to my chamber every quarter hour to check my progress. Then, once I finally reached the bottom of the stairs to face Brandon the Clock-watcher, he surprised me with the news that we were on our way to the zoo. And, as you can see by my everyday bonnet and flourish-less dress, I am not properly adorned for promenading.”

  Aunt Maeve clucked her tongue and Aunt Myrtle came forward to give her hand an affectionate pat. “Men can be so inconsiderate.”

  “Brothers especially,” Meg agreed with a nod. “Adding to my confusion, he ordered the kitchen to pack a large picnic basket, which is waiting in the carriage as we speak. I honestly don’t know what to expect next.”

  Aunt Myrtle was delighted. “A picnic! How splendid for you!”

  “I do love a good picnic,” Aunt Maeve agreed, “especially one abounding with an assortment of cold meats, minced pies and sharp cheeses.”

  “Oh, and you mustn’t forget the tarts, sister, perhaps with hautboy strawberries. Or cherry would be lovely with a nice brandy glaze. And I simply adore fig with . . .”

  Meanwhile, Ellie was fuming. Why, that presumptuous popinjay! “And where is he now, pray tell?”

  Meg pointed toward the single brown beaver top hat amidst a throng of ladies and their plumed bonnets. “Getting his just deserts. He’s currently holding court at the center of a rather rapacious gaggle.”

  “Good heavens!” Aunt Maeve declared. “Have they no shame?”

  “Apparently not, sister. Why, there’s one with her arms hanging about his neck who clearly knows nothing about the subtleties of successful flirting. She’ll never charm a muffin man that way.”

  Meg sighed. “I suppose we should rescue him. Rumors about him being ready to marry have been abounding ever since his dance with Miss Carmichael. The methods of gaining his attention have been even more outrageous than before.”

  As they began to walk toward the horde, Ellie pushed aside her pique—at least for the moment—and observed the shocking spectacle. It was a wonder the women hadn’t started to leap onto his back.

  She’d seen him surrounded on multiple occasions, but his followers had never seemed so desperate. Part of her was angry on his behalf, while another part was angry at him for allowing this pawing. Why didn’t he simply say that he wasn’t interested in marriage? After all, he’d suffered no qualms about flatly telling her.

  “Has he always had to deal with this attention from the fairer sex?” That would explain his conceit, she thought.

  “Oh, no. Until recently, we lived a quiet life in Northumberland. We come from a respectable line, but not a very fashionable one. Our father was a younger son whose wealth was more in the contents of his heart than in his bank account. It was his elder brother, my uncle, who held the title, with my cousin to inherit.”

  Because the aunts made a point to acquaint themselves with details regarding every unmarried male in the aristocracy, Ellie had heard that some sort of tragedy surrounded Lord Hullworth’s succession to the title, nearly ten years ago. However, she had not realized that he’d lost so many members of his family. And so had Meg.

  Reaching out, she gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. They shared a commiserating look between them that required no words, as if their friendship spanned years instead of days.

  Meg smiled softly before she continued. “So when Brandon was younger and without title or great fortune, he only had aspirations to marry for love and have a family of his own. Unfortunately, the local beauty who’d stolen his heart had much loftier ambitions.”

  Ellie nodded. Everyone in the ton had heard the rumor of Lord Hullworth and the one who got away. That was all she knew of the matter. And yet, she wondered if there was a bit more to the story.

  Her gaze strayed to him. Seeing him standing there, so straight and tall and handsome, it was almost impossible to think that any woman would have broken his heart. “I imagine she’s filled with regret now.”

  “Perhaps,” Meg answered thoughtfully. “Although, I do worry that he’s never found anyone else. Our family comes from a long line of love matches. We are firm believers that, when we meet the one person we’re going to marry, we simply know. We feel it from the roots of our hair to the marrow in our bones. It’s called the Stredwick certainty. According to lore, it’s supposed to work with both parties, overwhelming the destined pair with a sudden and irrefutable sense of knowing.”

  “And yet, your brother’s certainty led him astray,” Ellie said, understanding a bit more about his standoffishness.

  Meg sighed. “I often wonder if Brandon and I didn’t quite get our fair share of the fabled certainty.”

  Ellie had no opportunity to comment or reassure her friend due to the din of voices as they reached the outskirts of the mob, hearing seemingly respectable ladies practically offering up their daughters in sacrifice.

  “You enjoy dancing? My Agatha is as graceful as a swan!”

  “My Cordelia is a diamond of the first water and it’s only her first Season. Just look at her. Prime pickings, my lord!”

  “I have three daughters. Take as many as you like! Or take me, instead.”

  Lord Hullworth, who’d kept his expression remote until this point, looked aghast when the woman launched herself at him.

  “Control yourself, madam.” He turned sideways to wedge through a portion of the throng. “I’ve no intention of marrying any of your daughters.”

  As he spoke, his gaze was ever searching for an escape . . . until it collided with Ellie’s. And held.

  In that same instant, her heart gave the most disconcerting squeeze. There was an odd quickening in the pit of her stomach, too. She settled a hand over her midriff to quell this foreign ailment. Dimly, she wondered if she might have contracted some sort of bear fever from standing too near the bun-crazed beast.

  Lord Hullworth took two steps but jerked to a halt when a girl was thrust in his path. “My Beatrice can heal your broken heart. Sweet as a lamb, she is!”

  He blinked at the young woman whose white-blond hair was a fleecy mass of curls that, sadly, resembled a sheep in need of a good shearing. Then he looked at Ellie over the top of the frothy configuration. When his eyes widened, she knew they were sharing the same thought.

  The entire episode was so comical that she forgot all about contracting bear fever, and her shoulders began to shake with insuppressible amusement.

  Then Aunt Myrtle suddenly cried out, “Gracious sakes! Is that an elephant on the loose?”

  Said at any other time, by any other person, Ellie would have been alarmed. Yet, when she saw Myrtle nudge Maeve in the ribs with her elbow, she knew it was only a ruse to cause a distraction. They were trying to save the marquess. And Ellie laughed behind her glove.

  Aunt Maeve adopted the appropriate expression and truly looked surprised. “An escaped pachyderm! And he’s coming this way!”

  “Where? I don’t see it?” Beatrice’s mother asked skeptically.

  Aunt Myrtle pointed vaguely behind the crowd. “Just beyond the hill and that copse of trees.”

  “I think I see it,” first-water Cordelia said, after affixing a pair of spectacles to her nose. “Dear me! It is an elephant!”

  At this, Ellie glanced absently over the hill, believing that there must have been a mistake. There couldn’t actually have been an elephant on the loose. Surely, someone would’ve taken measures to pre
vent . . .

  She stopped cold. It was true. The aunts weren’t dreaming it up, after all. And the gray beast was headed their way.

  “Oh, he’s just a baby. And isn’t he adorable with those floppy ears,” Meg said, but then emitted a startled squeak when the creature lifted his trunk and trumpeted as he came charging toward them like they were the pins in a game of lawn bowling. Baby, though he may have been, he was still the size of a curricle.

  One woman shouted, “Elephant on a rampage!” while another cried, “We’ll all be crushed.”

  The mothers and their sacrificial daughters flurried about, knocking into each other before dispersing in a disorderly frenzy.

  Ellie’s humor at the situation vanished on a tremor of icy dread. This was how she was going to die, she realized. She would end up as some mangled victim of an elephant attack. She never should have come to the zoo. Drat it all, George!

  Lord Hullworth found his way to her, Meg and the aunts, crowding closer with his arms spread to shield them from the ensuing melee. “We’re going to have to run for it.”

  Aunt Maeve and Aunt Myrtle each linked arms with Meg. “We’re a rather large target together. It will be better if we separate.”

  He agreed and settled his hand to the small of Ellie’s back. She was stiff and unyielding, frozen in place. But the instant she felt the warm solid strength of his hand she moved reflexively, hurrying beside him without knowing where they were headed.

  “Saved by a rampaging elephant calf,” she heard him say but kept her gaze straight forward. “And you were quite the giggling spectator.”

  “You should sell tickets for the next act and provide seating and refreshments,” she said in a startled rush as another bleat trumpeted behind her and the ground thundered at their feet.

  Lord Hullworth glanced over his shoulder. “Damnation, he’s a fast little beast,” he muttered under his breath. Then he cinched an arm tightly around her waist, shoring her against his side and supporting most of her weight. Under any other circumstance, their proximity would be quite scandalous. “This way, Miss Parrish. I don’t wish to alarm you, but our friend seems to be following us. It must be how fetching you look in yellow.”