Make Me a Marchioness

by Gemma Blackwood

  The course of one day was all it took to make him realise what a fool's errand it was.

  "Good morning, my lord," Julia greeted him the moment he stepped into the breakfast room. Annabelle was sitting beside her, beheading an egg with great concentration. Julia gave her a nudge. "Greet your father, Lady Annabelle."

  "Good morning, Papa," said Annabelle obediently. Charles smiled and offered her a bristled cheek to kiss. It was his custom to take breakfast with his daughter while he was at Harding Hall, but Annabelle was usually watched over by her nurse, a rather stuffy woman of advancing years who lacked the social apparatus to make proper conversation. A few moments of Julia's pretty face across the breakfast table quickly disabused Charles of the notion that he would dine in his usual silence.

  "I passed a very pleasant night," said Julia, buttering a slice of toast. "My room has such a pretty view of the gardens. I cannot thank you enough for your care in choosing it."

  "You must thank Mrs Potter," said Charles gruffly. He reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a steaming mug. "I had nothing to do with it."

  "I have created a schedule for Lady Annabelle's daily activities. Will it please you to look it over before I begin her lessons this morning? Or would you prefer an evening report on her activities?"

  Charles considered the wisdom of a private meeting with Julia once an evening. The insistent pang he felt in his chest whenever he looked at her intensified. That would not do. "A weekly report will suffice. I have every confidence in you."

  It was meant as a throwaway remark, but Julia glowed with pleasure. "Thank you, my lord. I shall report to you once a week, whenever it suits, and keep a careful record of Lady Annabelle's progress."

  Charles was already looking forward to their first meeting. It would at least make a change from the doom-and-gloom tidings he always received from Stevens, the steward.

  "You must not grow to rely too heavily on my opinion," he warned her. "There is every chance I will depart for my lands in Cornwall before the month is out."

  Was he imagining the flicker of disappointment in Julia's eyes? That was certainly too much to hope for on so short an acquaintance – and more fool him for hoping for such a dangerous thing.

  Annabelle's disappointment, on the other hand, was plain to the ears. "Papa, you must not! You mustn't go away again!"

  "Hush, my lady," said Julia quietly. "Your father is a very important man. It is not becoming to argue with him."

  Annabelle was immediately distracted. "Becoming?"

  "It means ladylike and pleasant. And you want to behave like a proper lady, do you not?"

  Annabelle nodded eagerly, and made a great fuss over showing Julia that she could settle her napkin neatly and eat without making too much mess. Charles was impressed. He was usually faced with tears when he told Annabelle he was leaving.

  Breakfast passed in pleasant, polite conversation, during which, once again, he felt that Julia learned a lot more about him than he did about her. She was never forward – far from it – but it was only that she was so adept at deflecting his questions about her own life.

  "Have you much family?" he asked her, and was met with:

  "None to speak of, my lord."

  Later, he ventured to guess the area of London in which she had grown up. Julia smiled and simply said,

  "Nothing like so fine a place as Chiltern, I assure you."

  Charles left the table with a brimming sense of frustration which he could not rightfully blame on Julia. It was his own fault for being so uncommonly interested in a mere governess, after all.

  "You are becoming a silly old man," he told his reflection in the hallway mirror. "All a pretty young girl need do is catch your eye, and your imagination runs away with you!"

  What would Sarah think, if she were here to see it? Charles closed his eyes and sighed, picturing his late wife's tut of fond disapproval.

  "Poor Miss Mallory has no interest in the likes of you," he told himself, and he hardly knew whether they were his words or, somehow, Sarah's.

  And of course, Julia was there when he paid his mid-morning visit to Annabelle's schoolroom, finding her sitting at her desk with her head bent over a book of children's poetry, demonstrating to Julia that she was certainly old enough to read – even though she could not do it very well. Charles stood in the doorway and watched the little scene with an ache in his heart. Annabelle had taken to a strong female presence like a flower to sunlight.

  "Very good, my little snowdrop," he commented as Annabelle struggled to the end of her poem. Julia glanced up, startled by his unannounced presence, and the sunlight from the window caught the edges of her dark curls, illuminating undertones of deep red. Charles was fortunate he had the excuse of Annabelle's performance to leave him lost for words.

  She was there again when Charles arrived to collect Annabelle for his customary evening walk with her through the gardens. Julia did not request to accompany them, but Charles was momentarily tempted to invite her.

  Foolish thought. He stamped it down as quickly as it arose. He was a red-blooded man, certainly, but he was no youth in the first flush of infatuation. Whatever feelings Julia stirred in him, he would be their master.

  Julia and Annabelle took an early dinner together in the schoolroom. Charles himself dined too late, and in too raucous company, to allow them to join him. So he was spared those green eyes for almost the full course of the evening, until Julia brought Annabelle to the library to kiss him goodnight.

  Annabelle flung her chubby arms around his neck and kissed him three times on each cheek. "Such a nice Papa," she said happily. "You will stay this time forever, won't you?"

  Just as he always did, Charles wondered how he could ever bear to leave her. Julia stood in the corner, silently watching. How did it look, in her eyes, this portrayal of a loving father? Was she already condemning him for his inevitable departure?

  Larkin, the butler, saved Charles from answering Annabelle's question by entering to announce Lord Christopher Yardsley. Ah. At last! There was no more welcome distraction from the burdens of fatherhood than Lord Kit.

  "Show him in directly," said Charles, dismissing Julia with what he hoped was a kindly yet firm nod. She took Annabelle's hand and gently led her away.

  Charles sat back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. He was beginning to find Julia's presence a chore. There was simply too much of her – too many ebony curls, too many emeralds in her eyes, too much pink in her cheeks. It was nearly more than a man could stand.

  His eyes flickered guiltily to the portrait hanging above the fireplace. To the image of the lovely young woman with sad eyes, sitting in a bower of wildflowers.

  "Forgive me, Sarah," he murmured. "It will pass."

  "Talking to yourself, Chiltern?"

  Charles turned around to see the figure of his closest friend outlined in the doorway. Kit Yardsley always cut a dashing figure, in his scandalously tight pantaloons and his frilled cravat bursting out of his collar in an elegant waterfall knot.

  "Thank goodness you're here, Kit," said Charles with a smile. "I was starting to become thoughtful."

  Lord Kit smiled a wicked smile. "We must certainly do something about that."

  And Charles's responsibilities were put away for another night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Julia accompanied Annabelle to her bedroom with the satisfying sense of a day's work well done. Their lessons had passed pleasantly, the staff had treated her well, and the Marquess – inasmuch as she could read him – seemed pleased with her. If only he would stop asking her questions about her family, she would be perfectly content with her first day at Harding Hall.

  "Here you are, Miss Kelsey," she said, opening the bedroom door to find Annabelle's nurse knitting by the fire. "I've brought you a tired-out little Lady."

  "Oh, very good," Miss Kelsey beamed. "Come here, my precious, we'll get you to bed directly." She was an older woman, portly and grey-haired, who exuded the comforting s
ense of homeliness which the best nurses did. As Annabelle ran to embrace her, Miss Kelsey nodded to Julia over the top of her head. "I hope you'll come and spend the evening with Mrs Potter and myself, Miss Mallory. We should like very much to have a little new company."

  "I'd be delighted," said Julia. For once, she felt thankful for her strange upbringing. It had left her equally happy to spend time with servants as with the gentry. Some governesses, no doubt, would have come from moneyed families and high positions in society, and would not know what to do with themselves once they were reduced to the position of household staff. Julia had no such problem. Edmund had always made it quite clear that, Duke's daughter or not, she remained his inferior.

  "Goodnight, Annabelle," she said, blowing the little girl a kiss.

  "Goodnight, Miss Mally." All Julia's endeavours had not yet succeeded in persuading Annabelle to pronounce her name properly. Never mind. It would come with time.

  Julia was halfway down the corridor when she realised that she had only the vaguest idea of the way back to her room. Mrs Potter had promised her a maid to show her from place to place, but evidently the girl was delayed. Julia hovered for a moment where the corridor joined the main staircase, trying to remember which of the doors she ought to go through. When she heard hurried footsteps behind her, she turned back gratefully, expecting the maid running late.

  Instead, she saw Miss Kelsey bustling along in rather a fluster.

  "Oh! Miss Mallory! I am so glad you haven't gone far. Please, will you come into Lady Annabelle's bedroom a moment? The little lady has seen something from the window which – well, I would just appreciate another adult's eyes, to make sure I'm not going mad!"

  "Certainly," said Julia, laying a calming hand on Miss Kelsey's arm. "What is it that Annabelle saw? Should we alert the household?"

  "I don't rightly know, to tell you the truth. I see nothing myself, however hard I look, but Annabelle insists..." Miss Kelsey opened the bedroom door to reveal Annabelle on tiptoe by the window, staring out with great animation.

  "Oh! Miss Mally! Come and see the fairy!" she called. Her little voice squeaked with excitement.

  Julia went to the window, which overlooked a walled section of the garden in which dark bushes stood in orderly geometrical lines. "A fairy?" she repeated. "Whatever do you mean, Lady Annabelle?"

  "A fairy! I saw it! I saw it out there." Annabelle pointed into the dark garden. Julia felt a quiver of trepidation as she followed Annabelle's finger. She had no wish to witness a supernatural event. The real world gave her quite enough to deal with.

  "There is nothing there," she declared, somewhat relieved. Annabelle shook her head in frustration.

  "Of course not, Miss Mally. The fairy has disappeared."

  Julia bent down to bring her face on a level with Annabelle's. "When you say a fairy, my lady, what exactly do you mean?"

  "A fairy lady all in a white dress," Annabelle explained, as though it were obvious.

  "And how tall was this fairy? As tall as my finger?" A large moth floating past the window would explain it.

  "Oh, no, Miss Mally. This was a real fairy, not one in a book. She was as big as you are." Annabelle popped a finger into her mouth and began speaking around it. Julia gently removed it. "And she was on her way to meet a fairy gentleman."

  A nameless prickle of fear ran up Julia's spine. She caught Miss Kelsey's eye. "Did you see a gentleman in the garden, Lady Annabelle?"

  Annabelle nodded wordlessly, sensing the trepidation in the air. "But only a fairy, Miss Mally. Not a real gentleman."

  "How did you know he wasn't real?" asked Julia. Annabelle trotted over to her bookshelf and pulled out a book. Julia ran her eyes over the title. Country Fairies.

  Annabelle leafed through the book impatiently. "Here," she said eventually, holding it up to show Julia the illustration on the page. "This is the gentleman fairy I saw."

  The Midnight Fairy, read the name written in curling script under the picture. Julia took the book from Annabelle's hand and displayed it to Miss Kelsey.

  The picture showed a dark figure wrapped in a black, hooded cloak. Only its eyes were visible in the shadows – twin almond-shaped gleams.

  "What do you think?" Julia mouthed to Miss Kelsey. "It could simply be an overactive imagination..."

  "I saw him," Annabelle insisted. "I saw him in the bushes."

  Julia bit her lip. She had more reason than most to be afraid of stories of cloaked men creeping through the night, but she couldn't let her past rule her. She was in Chiltern now. London, Edmund, and his cruel friends, all were far away.

  "I will alert Mrs Potter and the butler, Mr... Larkin, isn't it?" she said. "You are sure you saw no-one, Miss Kelsey?"

  "As certain as I can be, Miss Mallory. Though the child was so insistent, I thought I'd better get a second opinion."

  "I saw nothing," said Julia, glancing back nervously at the window. The rows of bushes had taken on a sinister element, now that her mind was full of the image of the Midnight Fairy and his pale gaze. "But it's better to be safe than sorry. I expect Mr Larkin will send some footmen to patrol the grounds."

  "Thank you, Miss Mallory," breathed Miss Kelsey. "I don't mind telling you, my heart was thumping when I looked out of that window."

  "Mine too," said Julia, trying to smile. "But I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Goodnight, Lady Annabelle. Goodnight, Miss Kelsey."

  "Goodnight!" Annabelle chirped, pulling the book back from Julia's hand. "Miss Kelsey, may we read about the fairies tonight?"

  "We certainly may." Miss Kelsey's steady tones did a great deal to calm Julia's mind as she left. A young maid was hastening down the corridor towards her.

  "Miss Mallory?" she asked, sounding relieved. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Miss. Would you like me to show you to your rooms?"

  "Not at present," said Julia. "I need to speak with Mr Larkin. Can you show me to his office?"

  "Oh, certainly," said the maid. "Though I expect he'll be in the kitchen at this time, Miss. Shall we try there first?"

  Julia followed the maid down a side passage clearly meant for servants' use, and down a set of rickety stairs she would never have discovered alone. The scent of baking bread told her that they were approaching the kitchen. The maid pushed open a door, spilling out golden firelight into the corridor. Julia entered after her.

  A young woman was tying an apron around her waist. She frowned when she saw Julia. "Who might you be?"

  "Julia Mallory," said Julia warmly, despite the woman's obvious displeasure at her presence. "I'm the new governess."

  "Hmph," sniffed the woman, and turned back to the pot on the stove.

  "This is Miss Felicity Graham, the cook," whispered the maid. One glance was enough to see that the little maid was terrified of Miss Graham, despite the fact that they seemed very close in age.

  Miss Graham was nothing like the chef at Amberley House, who was plump and permanently worried. She was tall – taller than Julia – with blonde hair without a trace of grey pulled back strictly from her face. The arm which stirred the pot was bony but surprisingly strong. Her expression was cold and proud. Julia felt instantly intimidated, even though she knew that technically she outranked the cook. She was clearly a trespasser in Miss Graham's domain.

  "I was looking for Mr Larkin," she said, trying not to sound too shy. Miss Graham sniffed again.

  "Hmph! He'll be down shortly, I expect, to see to the silver." Her eyes flashed a warning. "Sit down and don't touch anything."

  Julia did as she was told. There was no point antagonising Miss Graham when they had only just met. Her chilly welcome had the benefit of driving away Julia's worry over the possible trespasser in the garden.

  "Have you worked at Harding Hall long?" she asked, simply to make conversation. Miss Graham whirled around, wielding a wooden spoon as though she'd like to give Julia a smack.

  "I know what you're thinking. Too young to be a cook, aren't I? Too young to manage a kitchen for such
a household? Well, that's not what his lordship thinks."

  "I didn't mean –"

  "Course you did. Don't tell me you didn't notice my age, Miss Mallory." Miss Graham looked her up and down appraisingly. "Of course, some might say you're too old to be a governess."

  Julia could not believe how rude Miss Graham was being. "I am twenty-nine," she said, not knowing what else to say. Miss Graham sniffed again. Her opinion of single women of the ton who had reached the age of twenty-nine unmarried was all too clear.

  Julia felt a sudden itch to explain herself to this irascible woman. To tell her that they were not so different; to reveal that she had grown up in the direst poverty in Seven Dials. That she had passed most of her lonely adulthood turning a blind eye to her brother's unsavoury activities as he fought his way up to become the owner of a notorious gaming hell. She did not know what she hoped to achieve by such a confession – Miss Graham's respect, perhaps? But it was out of the question. She had no reason to trust Miss Graham not to spread her secrets through the household like wildfire – and knowledge of her background would see her cast out from Harding Hall without hesitation.

  Mr Larkin made his entrance a moment later, sparing Julia the task of making further conversation with the cook. He listened with half an ear to Julia's tale of fairies and cloaked gentlemen as he inspected the silverware.

  "I don't think there's anything to worry about, Miss Mallory," he said dismissively, holding a spoon up to the light and giving it a polish. "Lady Annabelle has always been a very imaginative girl. In any case, we are not in London here. Chiltern is one of the safest parts of England."

  "All the same, Mr Larkin," said Julia, knowing that her fear was more to do with the imagined threat of Edmund's wrath than with whatever Annabelle had seen in the garden, "I would appreciate it if you sent someone around the grounds to check."

  Mr Larkin sighed. "If it will comfort you, Miss Mallory, then of course. But rest assured there are gentlemen aplenty in the house. Why, Lord Christopher Yardsley is in the library with his lordship at this very moment. I should like to meet the footpad brave enough to mess with him!"