The Marquess Meets His Match

by Andersen, Maggi

  Now her pulse thumped at the possibility of him joining her in bed. She was suddenly very much awake. If she invited him, she was sure he would join her, but it appeared too late to change her mind even if she chose. And she was too tired to contemplate it.

  Neither of them attempted to eat the chocolate pudding. She wanted to ask Robert a dozen questions about London but sagged in her chair.

  Robert stood. “I’ll escort you to your chamber. We’ve had a long day, and another awaits us tomorrow.” He opened the door for her. “I don’t want you exhausted or sick by the time we reach London.”

  He had managed to make it sound as if he was more concerned with how she looked to the ton than her good health. “Very well. Goodnight, Robert.”

  Perhaps she was overtired from sitting beside Robert for hours in the coach while suffering a nervous heavy sensation in her stomach. But now she couldn’t sleep. She pounded her pillow, aware that Robert slept in the next room. She tried to imagine how he looked. Did he sleep in a nightshirt? Naked? Suddenly, her imagination took the suggestion and ran wild with it. Now there was no likelihood of her sleeping.

  She tossed onto her back and stared at the ceiling. A man’s body remained a complete mystery to her. Would his skin be so different to a woman’s? His looked so smooth. By nightfall, his chin was shadowed in dark hair, and when he ran his hand over it, it rasped.

  His valet awaited him in London. Apparently, while in Cornwall, he had shaved himself. She curled her fingers. It must be bristly to the touch. She liked his well-shaped hands and long fingers. What would it be like to have him touch her in those special places? She tucked her hands between her legs and shivered. She didn’t understand herself. Here she was, wishing he’d put his arm around her in the coach. But that might be because she disliked coach travel. It grew very late. Outside in the corridor, the floor creaked like a series of footsteps. This old inn must be haunted. She disliked being alone. How much better if Robert slept here. Plenty of room for two and that did not necessarily mean… She released an annoyed breath. Of course, it did. She was being foolish. She pummeled her pillow and turned on her side, managing to drift off at last.

  The next day turned out to be much like the last. Hour upon hour of rocking and jolting. To fill in the silences, when the view passing the window lacked interest, she talked about her family. She described to Robert how her father had quoted whole passages from all of Shakespeare’s plays, and how his oratories in the village hall had always been warmly applauded. “He organized a group of village players to perform one of the plays every summer.”

  “It might have been more pertinent to run his affairs more efficiently,” Robert said in a dry tone.

  She frowned. “Not everyone is good at that.” She moved to the corner of the carriage.

  “No.” Robert sighed. “My uncle left it to others in the end.” He shook his head. “Preferred to read philosophy.”

  “Can you run a large estate?” she asked curiously.

  “I haven’t had to, but I intend to try.” He gave her an apologetic grin, perhaps realizing he’d hurt her feelings. “Philosophy seems rather pointless to me, and I’m not keen on reciting iambic pentameter.”

  “No? Not even a little from Romeo and Juliet?” she asked half teasing, half hopeful. He had such a nice voice, low and appealing.

  He laughed and shook his head.

  She spent another restless night alone. Well past midnight, the sound of creaking on the stairs and footsteps outside her room made her sit up in the bed. When she heard nothing more, she threw back the covers and left the bed finding her way to the door in the dark. She leaned against it, listening. A further scrape and a cough sounded quite close. When the footsteps moved away, she opened the door a crack.

  A ghostly white shape loomed at the end of the corridor, or was it the bright moonlight? It still sent her into a panic. She scuttled to Robert’s door and tapped, whispering his name. It was just his reassurance she sought, then she’d return to her own bed. But he didn’t answer. The hairs stirred on the back of her neck and she grasped the latch and opened the door. The moonlit room was empty.

  Kate put her hand to her mouth. Where might he be? Not with that chamber maid who made cow eyes at him, she hoped.

  It must have been him she heard. Now fearful he’d discover her behaving foolishly, she returned to her room and climbed back into bed.

  *

  Robert strode up and down the cobbled courtyard in the cool air, his cheroot glowing in the dark. Cramped in the coach all day long didn’t suit his constitution. He grudgingly admitted that Kate’s lightness of spirit and her ability to cut through to the core of things made her company more pleasant than he’d expected. Generous too, especially about her father, who’d been less than adequate by the sound of it. But he still felt thoroughly put out by what his uncle had foisted on him. He yawned, hoping that stretching his legs in the fresh air would tire him. It had been surprisingly difficult to sleep when his new wife slept in a bed a few steps away down the corridor. He should just go right in there and put this nonsense to an end. A gentleman didn’t deflower a virgin in an inn. What if she really didn’t want him? She might cry. And she didn’t have a maid to assist her as her new lady’s maid awaited her in London. Dash it all. This did terrible things to a man’s ego.

  Robert shook his head, stamped out the cheroot, and made his way back to his room. Life would be more peaceful if he bowed to her wishes. He shrugged his tight shoulders. Providing her demands were within reason.

  Chapter Four

  Kate rose feeling drained after only a few hours’ sleep. Might Robert have lain awake too and thought of her? She rather doubted it, for she found him looking fresh and eager to begin the last lap of their journey home.

  Within hours, they had reached the outskirts of the great metropolis. Rain slapped the carriage windows and black soot belched into the gray sky. The noise astonished her, from hawkers to barrow boys, to the general hubbub of a big city. Kate wrinkled her nose. The smoky air was rank with nasty smells, the streets covered in muck. Filthy water rushed down the open drains. A lady emptied a chamber pot from her window, and a man walking below jumped back, yelled, and shook his fist at her.

  A coach and six passed them on its way out of London, its heavy metal wheels splashing through the puddles, slopping putrid water, and sending pedestrians scattering. The streets were busy with peddlers shouting their wares and crowded shops selling all manner of things from oranges to birds in cages. There were ragged beggars on every corner and some were children which tore at her heart. Prostitutes stalking the streets gave Robert the eye when the carriage pulled up in the busy city traffic.

  They emerged into a treed area.

  “Where are we?” Kate asked, rubbing at the misty window.

  “This is Mayfair,” Robert said, leaning close. “So called, since the annual fair in the days of Edward I.”

  “It seems very nice,” she murmured aware of his breath, warm on her nape.

  Well-dressed people crossed the streets, paying the street sweeper to clear a path for them. The bricks of the mansions were scrubbed clean. Gardeners toiled behind front walls and maids washed the front steps.

  The carriage traveled along the edge of a wide expanse of land called Hyde Park. Robert pointed out South Carriage Drive where society gathered to socialize in the early evenings. Riders were exercising their horses along the bridleway called Rotten Row.

  The carriage turned onto Curzon Street. They passed a chapel and a market and pulled up in front of a grand, four-story mansion. A high stone wall surrounded it. There was a wide, front garden of trees and plants. A pair of tall footmen in the blue and gold St. Malin livery rushed to open the coach door and put down the steps.

  Kate stood on the pavement wanting to stretch her cramped limbs. She stared up at the four elongated statues of Greek goddesses which adorned the giant Doric columns supporting the upper stories.

  Robert escorted her inside.
The St. Malin residence was as different from Cornwall as the sun was to the moon. A soaring ceiling and marble columns made Kate gape. A gracious staircase rose from the black and white tiled floor to the upper levels. Robert introduced her to the formal butler, Hove, who greeted her without a smile, and told a maid to take her cloak and bonnet. She thanked him and followed Robert up the stairs. Everywhere she looked, superior-looking servants stood about in livery.

  Robert bowed to her at the door to her bedchamber. She peeped in to view the richly furnished room, the walls hung with rose damask.

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?” She turned, hoping he’d decided to come in with her.

  He frowned slightly. “Don’t thank the servants. You’re a marchioness now.”

  She lifted her chin. “I like to thank people. They don’t seem to mind.”

  “They are not your friends, Kate,” he said in an exasperated tone. “They are here to serve you.”

  “I’ll try to remember, Robert. But I must do what comes naturally to me.”

  She watched him shrug as though his coat was too tight. He continued down the corridor and disappeared through a door. Everything she did and said seemed to annoy him.

  He had explained that new clothes must be made for her immediately. They could not accept invitations or receive guests until she was better dressed. He’d arranged for an aunt to call and take her shopping and to the modiste.

  After an elaborate luncheon, Robert left her in the care of his aunt and departed for his club. Kate understood that he would not wish to take part in such a venture, but she couldn’t help feeling he’d been a little too eager to leave. And on her first day in London, too. Might he not have taken her around and shown her the sights?

  Lady Susan was an elderly widow whose long face and aquiline nose reminded Kate of Robert’s uncle. She looked disapprovingly at Kate. But displaying the exquisite manners of the ton, she asked no questions of their sudden marriage, and whisked Kate off to be fitted for a wardrobe of stunning gowns and to shop for accessories. The modiste’s rooms were like an Aladdin’s cave filled with lustrous materials, silks and satins, furs, beads, and feathers. Kate wandered about captivated. She picked up a garment that lay half-completed on a table. It was a nightgown of black lace. She could see her hand through the fabric. The thought of wearing such a garment made her blush. She had never countenanced such a thing. Her nightgowns had always been high-necked and made of white lawn.

  *

  Robert drove his phaeton through Vauxhall and along the flat barren lands of Lambeth Marsh. On a rise in the distance, its towers stark against the gray sky, sat the gloomy Jacobean mansion, Osborne Hall, in its small park. Once his Great Aunt Agatha’s family home.

  Some ten miles down the road, Robert came to the clay pits near the river. He pulled up his horses and climbed down, throwing the reins to a young lad in the yard. “Walk them and you’ll earn a shilling.”

  The pottery factory was little more than a shed and what was being produced was poor and of limited variety. An apologetic manager showed him the ledgers which revealed very little profit. Robert left, wondering what on earth he should do about it. He could carve up the land. But selling land went against the grain with him. If he sold the business as it stood, however, he would get practically nothing for it. Might it be best to sell and cut his losses, though?

  It was close to dusk when he left Vauxhall behind. He was to attend a boxing bout between Benjamin ‘Big Ben’ Brain and John Boone taking place that evening in Bloomsbury. He thought of Kate and swiftly buried a twinge of guilt. She would be tired after such a full day, but it was a special event he simply could not miss.

  *

  A package had arrived from the jeweler. Alone, Kate burned with curiosity while she waited for Robert to return, but night fell with no sign of him. On one of her jaunts to examine the splendid paintings by mediaeval artists adorning the walls, she came upon a footman who appeared to have a sore foot, for he favored it when she passed him twice in the corridor.

  “You have an injury?” she asked when next she came across him.

  “Nothing serious, my lady,” he said in a faint voice. He wasn’t a young man, his hair quite grizzled.

  “Perhaps you’d like a chair,” she suggested.

  His gaze widened and he swallowed. “Oh, no. But thank you, my lady.”

  “Is it the gout?” she asked sympathetically. “My grandfather suffered from it.”

  The footman glanced up and down the empty corridor. “I fear it is.”

  “Grandfather swore by cold water immersion and powdered elm bark.”

  The footman cleared his throat. “He did, my lady?”

  Kate nodded. “I shall ask the housekeeper if she has some.”

  He looked alarmed. “That’s kind of you, my lady, but there’s no need.”

  “I’ve heard you called Barker. That is your name?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

  Kate went in search of the housekeeper. The woman looked shocked when she entered the servants’ quarters. Clasping her hands stiffly in front of her, Mrs. Graves admitted she had none to hand, but would send out for the elm bark immediately.

  “Please don’t worry, Mrs. Graves. I’ll purchase some when next I’m shopping.”

  Kate left the woman speechlessly rising from a low curtsey and found her way back to her chamber to change for dinner. A housemaid awaited her in the boudoir, but she seemed nervous and inexperienced. Kate dismissed her and dressed herself. Satisfied that she looked tidy, she found her way to the yellow salon as she’d been instructed. The scale of the room took her breath away. A pair of massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high coffered ceiling and bronze silk covered walls adorned with paintings and huge gilt mirrors. Robert sat waiting in a gold brocade chair. He stood as she entered. He had changed for dinner.

  “Have you been here long? Why didn’t you send word that you were home?” She bit the words off even as she spoke them, watching his eyes grow cool.

  “I had some business to attend to. Come here, Kate. I have something for you.” Robert held a small box which he flipped open with his thumb. An exquisite rose-cut diamond ring nestled in cream satin like a beautiful exotic flower. It was surrounded by nine smaller diamonds in an elaborate gold setting.

  “My goodness.” The diamond in the ring was almost the size of a walnut. She had never seen anything quite so beautiful, but it was also terrifying. What if she lost it? She’d almost rather keep his signet ring.

  He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it, blushing when her fingers trembled. He drew his signet ring off her finger, then eased the ring on in its place.

  “It fits perfectly,” Kate said with relief. Might he not kiss her and say something nice? He disliked poetry, but he needn’t be so coolly efficient.

  “The wedding ring belonged to the former marchioness. I guessed your size and had it altered.”

  “How clever of you.” She turned her hand this way and that. The diamond caught the candlelight and flashed like blue flame. “Tell me about her.” Kate did so want to know more about her new family. “I’d like to learn about them all. Those living and dead.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” he said, his eyes becoming shadowed. “Invitations are pouring in, my secretary informs me. In a few days, when you are properly dressed, we’ll attend some of them. There are many waiting to meet you.”

  She toyed with her bottom lip. “There are?”

  He glanced away from her. “But of course. After dinner, I am engaged to visit my club with friends. I’m sure you must be tired.”

  “A little, Robert.” It hadn’t really been a question.

  After Robert departed, she wandered the library, which was another cavernous room. Arms folded, she walked the length of the room and back, several times, her heart sinking into her boots. Is this what she must get used to?

  She came across a portrait of him hanging on the wall. Robert stood beside a
gnarled oak in riding clothes, a crop in his hand, looking young and unhappy. She crossed soft Axminster carpet and climbed the iron stair to roam the many tiers of books. She selected a book of Alexander Pope’s poetry to read and retired early. Settled in bed, she found she couldn’t concentrate. After reading the stanza several times, she concluded she was too tired and put the book aside.

  But once the candle was extinguished, she lay awake. Robert’s dressing room was next to hers. She heard him return and speak to his valet just after the grandfather clock in the hall struck one. Less lonely now that he was home, she turned over and fell asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Robert paused outside Kate’s door. He’d hastily washed and slipped into a silk banyan wishing to set things straight between them. Once done, he could then concentrate on other matters and need only visit her on the odd occasion until she was with child.

  The prospect of Kate all sleepy and sweet smelling with her hair down, stirred his loins. He raised his hand to knock, then paused. It was late and waking her would not be polite. And the fact that she was an innocent deterred him. She was not like his mistress. She would need more wooing than that.

  While he deliberated, he saw that no light shone from beneath the door. He most likely needed a thorough soaking in the hipbath after the dubious company he’d kept at the boxing bout tonight. He dropped his hand and returned to his bedchamber.

  *

  The next morning, the first of Kate’s gowns arrived. The modiste must have had her underlings working all through the night to complete it. Robert had paid the woman well and with the promise of more, she’d excelled at the task. Kate’s new French maid, Brigitte who had arrived yesterday, assisted her into it. Kate paraded before the mirror. It was so flattering she couldn’t wait for Robert to see it.

  Kate swept confidently into the breakfast room, her new gown of a heavily quilted sage green silk with its ivory satin petticoat swishing about her elegant buckled shoes. Seated at the breakfast table, Robert glanced up from his newspaper and eyed her approvingly. His gaze traveled to her hair, which Brigitte, exhibiting great skill, had artfully tumbled into a pile of curls she called à la grecque.