Beauty and the Beastly Marquess

by Lisa Campell

  “Father there is no way. Why the devil are you in such a sudden rush?”

  “Rush? It is well past time. I have let you dally in town long enough, not that you have used it to your advantage. You spend all of your time with that boring and overly studious Baron Westfield, the two of you playing with your trains. It’s a waste.”

  “It’s not a waste father. And we don’t play. If Westfield’s inventor friend from America is right, the development of his new, more efficient steam engine will change travel as we know it throughout England. There can be much money to be made by getting in on the investment early.”

  “Yes, yes, but you are rarely at White’s and I have it on good authority that you have not visited the theater, or the actresses of Covent Garden, not once the whole of this year? You are not living for enjoyment at all. So, it is indeed a waste. The ton is not interested in steam engines. There is no influence in that. You need a wife, and a life, one that makes our friends and rivals envious.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. Of course, his father’s idea of success would be based in gambling, and pleasure palaces. It wasn’t that Henry didn’t enjoy the finer pleasures, it was just that he saw securing the future of his legacy, as well as the benefits to England as a whole, as a much more important priority. He had no need of his father’s club, or the theater.

  “Father, clearly we see things differently. If you don’t want me to meet a potential bride during the season, what is it exactly that you have in mind?”

  “I have already secured a match,” his father said, smiling broadly in a manner Henry thought would be best suited on a cat that had caught a mouse - and was thrilled with the idea of toying with it before he made it his dinner. “A completely charming girl, you are lucky you have a father like me who knows what is best for you, at least in a wife. She is lovely, blond and fair, a true English rose. She has not been out in society, and so a marriage would certainly set the ton’s tongues wagging, thus securing an invite to any event. The two of you would be the talk of London.”

  “And who is this paragon of a bride, Father?”

  Henry searched his brain but could not fathom where his father would have found such a girl. He feared that any woman his father thought of as a perfect match would be the worst kind of match for him.

  “Why, who else, but our dear Lady Emma Thornton, the Earl of Elesmere’s beautiful, unwed, and accomplished daughter.”

  Henry thought he must have misheard.

  “Lady Emma Thornton? Surely you jest—” Henry tried to keep his tone even as he got up and paced the room. It would do no good for him to lose his temper with his father, but surely the old man was daft. “You mean to have me marry someone who I’ve known my whole life to be nothing but a flighty, vapid, girl? How is that anything close to a good match?”. An image of Lady Emma the last time he saw her flashed through his mind. A gangly sort of girl, who did not like to take direction and who had no respect at all for order. They would not suit at all. Clearly his father could see that. Besides he had not even been in the same room as Lady Emma in almost ten years. They had never spoken as adults, not danced, nor taken walks in the gardens. He would be marrying a complete stranger.

  “I do not jest! And you will marry the Thornton chit. She is perfect for our purposes, and there is no need to discuss this further!”

  Henry flinched. His father’s forceful tone put him on edge. He rarely heard his father issue an edict, but this was different. He had to come up with a way not to marry the Thornton girl. Yet, Henry was not accustomed to shirking his responsibilities.

  Perhaps she will refuse me? Yes, surely the girl had not desired to be forced into a marriage, even if it was to a Marquess who was heir to a Dukedom?

  “And what if Lady Emma says no?”

  “She will not say no,” the Duke said, clasping his hands in front of himself and gently clapping them together, reminding Henry very much of one of the villains in the horribly dramatic gothic novels Cecil was forever reading and laying about. Not that Henry read the dreadful things, much anyway. “It was the Earl who came to me. It seems my good friend had lost a great deal of money, all of it in fact, and needed some assistance. That was when I caught a glimpse of Lady Emma and my plan…er… idea, yes, my idea began to take shape. You are in want of an accomplished wife, and she is an accomplished lady in need of a husband.”

  “So, you bought her? Bloody hell, father.” This time Henry did not even try to keep the shock from his tone. His father had bought him a bride, unbelievable.

  “Henry, really, such language. I did not buy her. I merely helped a friend out of an untenable situation, and he offered to make an advantageous match by way of thanking me.”

  “This is really the edge of reason, Father. I cannot be party to…to whatever it is you are planning.”

  “I have already secured a special license,” the Duke replied. “Think of Lady Emma, should you refuse to do your duty and marry her, the scandal sheets would find out about the license and she will be ruined. You know our society is much harsher on women, and it will be thought that she did something to earn your disfavor. You will marry her. You must marry her. We will ride to the manse first thing in the morning.”

  As if on cue, the clock in the corner of Henry’s study chimed the four o’clock hour and Charleston entered the room carrying a tray laden with afternoon tea. Henry could not move, nor could he muster the strength to say another word.

  His father was right, it was too late. If he refused to marry Lady Emma he did not doubt the Duke would release the information about the special license to the scandal sheets himself, as a means of punishment for Henry’s defiance. He could not allow the girl to be ruined. He would do his duty and ride out for the country after tea as his father commanded.

  He looked over at his loyal butler and nodded his thanks for the tea.

  “Charleston, please tell Cecil to prepare a valise. We are leaving for the country at first light.”

  Henry could have sworn he saw the old butler’s eyebrows raise in question, but as quick as the look arrived it was gone, and Charleston was once again the very face of propriety.

  “Yes, My Lord,” he said as he nodded and left the room. Henry turned to his father. Wishing there were any way he could avoid the trap the old man had set.

  “I will marry the girl, but mark my words, it will be under duress,” he said.

  “My boy, by the end of the Season you will be thanking me for making such a fortuitous match,” his father replied. “Now, I’m famished, let’s eat.”

  Henry found that despite the hour, his appetite had left him completely.

  Chapter Three

  “It is late my lady, you must awake for the day.” Emma’s maid Sally Brooks was happily dancing around the room, opening curtains, allowing the sun access to her bed chamber. “Today His Grace and His Lordship will arrive. You will see your husband.”

  Emma groaned, squinting and rolling over to cover her face with a pillow, avoiding the angry shaft of light that broke through her bed curtains. Why was everyone excited about Emma’s upcoming nuptials? It was decidedly not a joyous occasion. She only reluctantly agreed to her father’s scheme out of duty to her family. She was absolutely not looking forward to the rest of her life as Henry Blackmoor’s wife, Duchess in waiting or not. It was going to be a disaster.

  “I am awake, Sally,” she said. “You need not keep up with your incessant cheerfulness.”

  “Yes, of course, My Lady. Will you need help with your dressing?” Sally looked stricken as she bowed. Emma immediately regretted her harsh words.

  “Yes, Sally, that would be lovely.” Emma softened her tone. After all it was not Sally’s fault she found herself in this situation. It was her father’s. She reminded herself to keep her harsh tones directed where they were deserved in the future.

  When Emma was dressed, and her golden blonde hair was pinned in a simple chignon, she decided Sally was right, there was no point in hiding from the day.
Her stomach gave an angry rumble. It was too late to break her fast with a morning meal, but hopefully Cook would have something light left in the kitchens that she could eat.

  Maybe there would be at least a sausage left, she thought as she headed toward the kitchens. She came up short at the doors as the usual clatter of pots, pans, and busy servants was punctuated by conversation that was clearly about her. She knew it was bad manners to eavesdrop, but she could not help it. What did the servants really think?

  “I don’t think she wants to marry at all,” Emma heard Sally say in hushed tones as she approached the kitchen.

  “Pish, posh,” Cook replied, dismissing Sally’s words. “She would be a Marchioness.”

  “Yes, but that Lord Blackmoor was a stern sort,” Sally reminded the cook. “Remember when he was a boy and came to visit. Had to have his bedchamber and his food just so. Particular.”

  “It matters not what type of boy he was,” Cook replied. “He is a man now, and heir to one of the oldest and most respected Dukedoms in England. I have not heard a bad thing spoken about him in the Village. He is respected much more so than his father, the Duke. Lady Emma wouldn’t do well to try and find a better match.”

  Is that what most people would think? That if she were not pleased with the match she was only being a selfish chit? That Emma would not be able to find a better match than Henry Blackmoor?

  She wrapped an arm around her stomach, suddenly losing her appetite. Rather than let the servants know she had been listening, she turned and headed toward her sitting room. She could always call for tea once the Duke and Lord Henry arrived. She needed to gather her wits about her somehow. It was her bad luck however that as she turned, she tripped over a bucket she had not seen, and tumbled, loudly, into the kitchen.

  “My Lady!” Sally said rushing to help her. Emma was more embarrassed than hurt. She stood and brushed away her skirts, reaching up to make sure her pins were still intact. “We did not see you there.”

  “Oh, I must have tripped.” She looked back at the bucket. Thankfully it was empty. “I just came down to…um…see if there was anything about to eat? I’m afraid I slept through the morning meal.”

  Cook jumped up from her seat at the long table that served as a counter for the cooking.

  “Of course, My Lady, I can find you some bread and cheese. Will that keep you until tea?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Emma said her embarrassment fading. “Cook, may I ask you a question?” The cook’s eyes grew wide, as she looked back and forth between Emma and Sally. Emma knew both women thought she heard their conversation. Sally quickly excused herself, mumbling about a hearth that needed her attention.

  “What can I do for you, My Lady?”

  “Did you mean what you said earlier, that I would be lucky to make such a fine match as Lord Dunberry?” Emma watched as Cook stumbled a bit. She did not want to have been caught eavesdropping, but as it was obvious that was what she had been doing, she thought it easier to have the answer directly from the servant.

  “Uh…My Lady, I meant no disrespect—“Cook began.

  “It’s no bother,” Emma said, interrupting gently. “I would like to know. You see, I am struggling with the decision. And an opinion that is not my father’s would be most welcome. Does Lord Dunberry have a reputation?”

  “If I may be so frank, my lady.”

  “Please, Cook, do,” Emma replied.

  “I have heard nothing but the highest regard for his lordship,” the cook replied. “I do believe he would make you a good husband.” The older woman handed Emma a plate with bread and cheese. Emma sat at the long table and began to quietly eat. Maybe Cook was right. Women of her station rarely chose their own husbands. Marrying for love was a foolish notion for young girls not yet in their stays. It was not a realistic option for the daughter of an Earl. Perhaps she should not be so harsh in her opinion of Henry Blackmoor. Perhaps he had grown into a fine man.

  As Henry rode up to Elesmere Manor, he could not help but smile. How many lazy summer afternoons had he spent as a boy reading in the expansive library that the Earl of Elesmere gave him free reign of? It was much better appointed than the library at Drysdale Hall. Henry loved that the old Earl kept his books in perfect alphabetical order, organized by subject. The library in his father’s house had no order whatsoever, which had always made the skin on his arms crawl. It made it impossible to enjoy reading. No, Henry much preferred the library at Elesmere Manor. He wondered if he would have any leave to enjoy a book or two before the wedding.

  He then thought about Lady Emma. Would she be agreeable to the match their fathers had arranged for them? If he thought for a moment his father would not turn to the scandal sheets and ruin the girl, he would have fought harder against it. Did she also object? How had time changed her? He knew her mother had died a few years back, leaving her with the responsibilities of the household. The girl he remembered loved running about in her stockinged feet and being out of doors. She liked to chastise him for preferring to stay inside where there was no threat of disorder or chaos and where he could be left to his own devices. Time had not changed him all that much. Only now at nearly thirty he understood more than ever about duty to one’s family and responsibility. Would Lady Emma feel the same?

  He looked back at his father’s carriage. The Duke, preferring to ride in relative comfort from town, was hidden behind the heavy velvet curtains. Henry could not endure the hours long ride trapped inside the soft, dark interior with the man. He was still beyond angry at not having a say in his own marriage, and to Lady Emma no less. What would possess both of their fathers to be so hard as to sentence them to a life-long match of animosity at worst, indifference at best?

  Henry shook his head. Perhaps the money motivator was strong for Elesmere, but Henry should not have to question his own father’s motives. The Duke only cared for political standing and reputation. The happiness of his only son was not ranked among his concerns, nor would he preoccupy himself with Lady Emma’s happiness. No, they were both simply a means to an end for his father.

  “Why did you stop?” His father peered out of the side window of his carriage as it slowed to meet up with Henry.

  “I was just reflecting on the beauty of the Manse,” Henry replied keeping his tone flat.

  “We do not have time for your frivolity,” the Duke replied. “Elesmere and Lady Emma are waiting for us.”

  Henry would have laughed if his mood were better. He had been accused of many things, but frivolity was not one of them. He nudged his horse into movement and took off toward the manse.

  Might as well get this over with.

  Henry and his father were greeted as they expected by liveried footmen, and the housekeeper. In town Henry would have expected a butler to greet them at the door but as it was, the Elesmere housekeeper Mrs. Farmer, was a fixture of the country house, and Henry remembered her fondly from his youth.

  “Why My Lord, if I may be so bold, you appear to have grown into a fine young man,” Mrs. Farmer said giving Henry a deep curtsy. He nodded and gave the woman a smile.

  “Well, that was a horrendous trip. What room will we meet with Elesmere in?” The Duke came barreling in before Henry had a chance to comment or thank the old woman.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Farmer said. “Allow me to show you to the red drawing room.”

  “You?” the Duke asked. “Is there no butler in this house?”

  “Father, you know that in country homes there is typically no butler,” Henry said under his breath.

  “Nonsense, we have a butler at Drysdale Hall!”

  Henry fought the urge to roll his eyes at his father’s bombast. This was far from their first visit to the manse. When he was young they came quite frequently, when they were not in town, and Elesmere and his family frequently visited Drysdale Hall.

  He knew his father was simply lording his wealth and status over Elesmere. The poor man wasn’t even in the foyer to hear it. It was borderin
g on cruel.

  “Father, let us follow Mrs. Farmer into the drawing room and await our hosts,” Henry said sensing the housekeeper was uncomfortable.

  “Very well,” Drysdale replied. “Show us the way, woman.”

  Chapter Four

  “Darling, they will be here soon, surely you can sit and stop pacing.”

  “Father, I shall pace if I wish.” Emma shot her father a dangerous look. She was willing to do her duty and save him his debts, but she was in no mood to be told how she should move or sit.

  “Of course, Emma, but you are making me quite dizzy,” her father said.

  “Am I? Perhaps you would prefer I retire to my rooms. As you, Lord Henry and the Duke have made all these life decisions for me, do I really need to be present at all?”