Make Me a Marchioness

by Gemma Blackwood

  Edmund's gaming hell. Julia kept her face blank and prayed her racing heart would not betray her.

  "Of course not," Kit answered for her. "It's not the sort of place a respectable governess would have anything to do with."

  "I do not frequent gentlemen's clubs, not being a gentleman myself," said Julia pointedly. This, at least, was true. Even while living under Edmund's thumb, she'd avoided his foul workplace like the plague.

  "Naturally," laughed Kit. When he laughed – really laughed, without malice – his face was dramatically altered. He looked younger and almost pleasant. But the expression was quickly wiped away, to be replaced by his sly grin. "But we are not here to discuss London's underbelly. I am to make a report on Lady Annabelle's progress."

  "There is nothing of note to report since the Marquess left yesterday," said Julia.

  "Nevertheless, I mean to take my task seriously. I will be here every day at sunset to hear how your lessons have gone, and to check on the household."

  Julia was amazed, and not pleased at the idea of enduring Lord Kit's company every single day. "His lordship was satisfied with a weekly report."

  "I am not his lordship." Kit's brows lowered. "A man takes greater care of his friend's possessions than he does of his own. Annabelle means the world to Charles, and therefore she is now my primary concern."

  "Is that why he means to pass the winter in Cornwall?" asked Julia, without thinking. Kit frowned, stunned by her frankness, and then, thankfully, laughed.

  "What a tongue you have, Miss Mallory!" He looked her over, really looked at her for the first time, with neither the lascivious impudence of his midnight drunkenness or the careless indifference of his lordling persona.

  He almost seemed friendly, until his eyes fell on the honeysuckle crown in her hand. "Where did you get that?" he asked softly, his voice a dangerous growl.

  "The gardens," said Julia, perplexed by his change of mood. "Lady Annabelle found it under a tree."

  "You should not have touched it. It does not belong to you."

  "It's only a flower, my lord." She held it up for his inspection. "The last of the autumn honeysuckle, I believe. I did wonder where it came from. I haven't seen any in the grounds."

  Kit snatched the flowery crown away from her, nearly tearing it apart in his haste. "There is none. And you oughtn't to go looking for any." He was clutching the honeysuckle to his chest as though it were an object of great importance. Julia couldn't imagine why, and she wasn't particularly curious to find out. The whims of a selfish young Lord were not her concern, after all.

  "Pardon me," she said, thinking she had better draw the meeting to a close. "I ought to go and check that Lady Annabelle has found Miss Kelsey."

  "Wait a moment, Miss Mallory." Kit snapped his fingers at her. Julia was tempted to ignore him and leave, but she stayed. "I would not want you to think badly of our dear Marquess. I can see you have already made certain...assumptions about his character."

  "I do not wish to assume anything about my employer," said Julia. "His character is not my concern."

  "Nevertheless, it must seem strange to you that any loving father would be so absent, no?"

  Julia sat down again, intrigued despite herself. "I do not question the Marquess's love for Lady Annabelle."

  "It is that very love which torments him," said Kit, unconsciously stroking the honeysuckle vine. "You and I are young, Miss Mallory, and I hope neither of us know much of grief."

  The image of Edmund flashed into Julia's mind – Edmund giving one of his rare smiles. Her heart tugged in her chest.

  "Charles is a different matter," Lord Kit continued. "He has suffered very greatly. He has never recovered from his wife's death. We cannot presume to imagine the mixture of pain and pleasure Lady Annabelle must give him." He sighed. "The late Marchioness – Sarah – she loved this place. She poured her heart and soul into caring for the house. Even I see constant reminders of her everywhere. She is in the very wallpaper. How can you expect Charles to stay here and suffer such torment daily?"

  "I expect nothing," said Julia. "And I wish you had not told me this, my lord. I do not wish to know the Marquess's secrets."

  "Then you should not have judged him," said Kit sternly. Julia had to admit that he was right. It galled her.

  "And what of your own contribution to the Marquess's misery?" she asked, speaking out of turn to cover her guilt. "Do you truly believe that drunkenness and poor behaviour is a fit cure for him?"

  Kit's mocking smile twisted into a snarl. "How dare you question me in that impudent manner? I don't know what airs the Duke of Westbourne gave you, but in this house you are a governess. A servant. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly," said Julia, willing herself not to tremble as Kit took another predatory step towards her. He shook himself, as though clearing the rage from his head, and ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

  "This interview is over. I will see you again tomorrow, Miss Mallory. You are dismissed."

  Julia left, and gladly. She did not go up to the nursery to check on Annabelle. Her mind was in too much tumult over what she had discovered about the Marquess.

  Sitting on her little bed, alone in her room, she slowly unpicked the storm of emotion that had awakened in her heart. Charles had been transformed in an instant from a drunken, careless fool into a tortured, haunted soul in need of peace. Julia's heart broke when she thought of him looking at Annabelle and seeing his dead wife's eyes in her face.

  "What a fool you are," Julia said to herself, and sank down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had no name for the feelings awakening in her chest. A mixture of tenderness, pity, and a deep desire to help the man she ought to think of only as her employer.

  Thank goodness Charles would not be home till Christmas. Surely, she would be able to master her feelings by then.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Autumn passed, full of crackling leaves and chilly days. Julia used some of her income to buy a new pair of fur-lined gloves. Annabelle began to find delicate frost patterns on the windows each morning, and delighted in melting them away with her warm breath. Her reading and writing came on in leaps and bounds, her mathematics progressed more slowly, and she threw herself into the study of painting with an enthusiasm that Julia knew the Marquess would appreciate. Lord Kit made his unwelcome appearance once a day at sunset, but their interviews remained cold, formal, and brief.

  As November ended and the Christmas season began, Julia was glad of the company of Miss Kelsey and Mrs Potter every evening. She could not plead loneliness, for in Edmund's household she had never had anyone to talk to, but she began to crave adult conversation after a day spent indulging Annabelle's whims. As the nights drew in, the three women would be found sitting in companionable silence over their embroidery, or perhaps playing at cards. Julia knew she was luckier than many governesses. The housekeeper and the nursemaid were truly becoming her friends.

  On Julia's days off, it fell to Miss Kelsey to care for Annabelle. They were never able to venture into the village together unless Annabelle came too. When the sun shone, which it did ever more rarely, Julia made the most of it by walking along the pretty woodland way to Chiltern and back. She was perfectly happy to make the walk alone, despite Mr Larkin's protests that it was not quite suitable for a young woman of genteel birth. Julia wondered what sort of background the servants had imagined for her. She was always careful never to reveal a single detail herself.

  It was on one of those cold but bright winter mornings, when the leafless branches of the trees were outlined starkly against the pale sky, that Julia's walk to the village received a most unwelcome interruption.

  A large black carriage with the curtains drawn came towards her down the narrow path at a considerable pace. Julia stood aside to let it pass, and was amazed when the driver reined in the horses at her side.

  The moment he leaped down and seized her by the arm, she recognised him. Mr Silver. Her brother's enforcer.


  Julia struggled, though she knew that Mr Silver's reputation for violence was not something to take lightly. He manhandled her arm behind her back, making her cry out with pain.

  "In you go, Miss Mallory," he leered, breathing a wash of foul-smelling air into her face. Julia had no choice but to comply. She was certain that he would break her arm without a second thought if she refused.

  In the darkness of the carriage, a familiar face came into view.

  "Hello, sister," said Edmund. The half-light filtering through the drawn carriage curtains illuminated the long scar running down his left cheek. He was not an ugly man: dark-haired and fine-featured. The scar was the only indication of the truth of his soul.

  Julia began to wonder whether she'd ever see Harding Hall again. "Edmund," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "What an unexpected surprise."

  "Is it?" He leaned forwards and Julia flinched back. "I wrote to you."

  "I burned your letters, Edmund."

  "Ah." He tapped a finger thoughtfully against his knee. "That was wrong of you, sweet sister."

  "You cannot harm me," said Julia. She was impressed by the bravery in her own voice. She had never felt less courageous than she did at that moment. "I am under the protection of the Marquess of Chiltern."

  "Are you, now?" Edmund laughed. "How impressive. And to think that once upon a time you had only me to take care of you."

  Julia was in no mood to play games. "Why are you here, Edmund? What do you want?"

  "Want?" He leaned forwards and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His touch was rough, brutal even. Julia had been on the receiving end of both his brutality and his gentleness before, and she knew how easily one could turn into the other. She closed her eyes. "I want what's mine, sweet sister. Have you forgotten who raised you? Who paid for your education? Who put food on the table and kept you from the slums of Seven Dials? You had no fancy governess growing up. There was only me. Have you really forgotten all you owe me?"

  "Edmund, please –"

  "Our mother would turn in her grave, knowing you'd forgotten me so heartlessly after all I did for you." Edmund turned her face from side to side, inspecting her like a horse at the market. "You're looking well, sister. The high life suits you."

  "I can pay you –" Julia began, knowing that all her yearly income would not be enough to satisfy him. Edmund tutted.

  "Tsk, tsk. Do you think money's all I care about? Or do you imagine I've not been running my business in your absence? You kept the books, sure enough, but I kept the money coming in." He let go of her face, casting her aside harshly so that her head bounced off the seat. "You'd be nothing without me. I gave you things I never had, Julia. An education. A full stomach. The ability to play at noble birth."

  "I have noble birth," she snapped. "My father was the Duke of Westbourne!"

  Edmund laughed again. She'd forgotten how much his laugh frightened her. "And precious little good he did you, your high and mighty father. Not a single penny ever came your way from him. He saw our mother starve to death on the streets and never lifted a finger!"

  Julia had no answer for that. It was all true.

  "Now, back to what I'm owed," said Edmund, a silky current of persuasion running through his voice. "By my reckoning, since it's thanks to me that you had the education to achieve such a high position in society as a Lady's governess, I'm due some compensation."

  "I've told you I can pay," Julia began desperately, but he waved her into silence.

  "I'm not after your money, Julia. I have plenty of my own. No, I want something else from you. Something deeper." He leaned in so that his nose almost touched hers. "I want the loyalty you owe me."

  "I owe you nothing," said Julia. "You were a violent and cruel man, and a thief to boot. I could have gone to prison for your crimes against the Westbourne family."

  "But that's in the past, Julia," said Edmund, with a wicked smile. "In the present, here and now, I am asking you to prove that you're still my sweet little sister. I want you to show me that you know you can't escape by running away to the countryside. I own you, Julia, and I want to see that you know it. Understand?"

  "Whatever you want me to do, I –"

  "Bring me something from the Marquess's fine house," said Edmund. "A little token of your respect for me, your continuing affection. Something to show your dear brother he's not forgotten back in the smoky city. Do you know what I mean?"

  "I can't imagine."

  Edmund raised a single eyebrow. Julia went tense. She sensed the violence rising in his soul.

  "Don't play the fool with me, Julia. Bring me something from Harding Hall. A candlestick. An heirloom. Anything will do." He put a hand on her knee and stroked it, sending a shudder of revulsion through Julia's body. "Prove to me that this Marquess doesn't own you just because he's bought your time."

  "I will never steal from him!" It was more of a squeak than the stern admonition she'd hoped for, but it did the job. Edmund's eyes flashed dangerously and his fingers closed in a vice on her knee.

  "I advise you to reconsider."

  "I advise you to recall the meaning of the word never."

  To her shock and relief, he let her go. "Very well. Very well, little sister. You rebel if you must. I only hope you don't regret it too dearly when the time comes." His voice lowered to an ominous growl. "Because the time will come, Julia. You'll beg me to forgive you before this is over."

  "It's already over," she gasped. "I've left, Edmund – I've left Seven Dials, I've left Mallory's gaming hell, and I'm never coming back. Please understand –"

  "I understand well enough." He tapped on the carriage ceiling. "Silver? Put her back where you found her!"

  Julia swallowed her squawk of surprise as rough hands grabbed her once more and pulled her out onto the muddy ground. She didn't want to give Mr Silver the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt her.

  "Until next time, sweet sister," Edmund called, and the carriage drove away.

  Julia stumbled along the path until her flailing arms found a tree, which she clutched dizzily to stop herself falling to the floor. Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision.

  How had he found her?

  Why did he let her go?

  What would he do next?

  All thoughts of the walk to Chiltern fled her mind. Stumbling and sliding as she crashed through puddles of mud in her distress, Julia ran as fast as she could back to the safety of the house.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Charles did not stop to sleep on his way back to Harding Hall. He changed horses at every inn he stopped in, not caring for the expense. Money meant very little to him anyway; he had more than enough.

  Phrases from Julia's letter chased each other round his mind like ghosts calling from a dark future.

  Please forgive my impertinence in writing to you...

  ...I feel I can no longer suffer in silence while Mr Larkin and Lord Christopher fail to take me seriously...

  ...my safety and that of your daughter...

  ...There is danger here at Harding Hall...

  What would he find when he arrived? Would everything be as he left it, as it always was – Annabelle rushing into his arms, Sarah's portrait watching faithfully from his library wall?

  Or would he be too late to prevent whatever disaster Julia feared?

  He cursed himself for leaving Kit in charge of his household. Kit was a fine enough man for a night of bachelor enjoyments, to be sure, but he was not at all suitable as the guardian of a young and innocent girl – or her young and pretty governess.

  "Sarah, please, watch over them," he whispered to himself as his carriage pounded through the night. "Keep them safe."

  Speaking to Sarah never made him feel any better. It wasn't as if she ever replied. But he would have felt guilty if he didn't try.

  He finally arrived at Harding Hall as dawn was breaking on his third day of travel. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he did not stop to catch his breath be
fore thundering up the stairs to Annabelle's bedroom. The house was eerily quiet.

  He opened the door to find a sleeping girl tucked up in her bed, with a maid fussing with the fire in the grate. The maid jumped up, frightened by his sudden entrance, and dropped a quick curtsy.

  "Forgive me, my lord –"

  "Don't fret, don't fret," he said, trying to recall the girl's name. Was it Tilly? Sally? All the housemaids looked the same to him. "Get back to your work."

  As the maid coaxed heat out of the coals, he touched a hand to Annabelle's slumbering cheek. Only then did he notice the figure slumped in the armchair beside the bed.

  "Miss Mallory?"

  Julia jumped awake at the sound of her name. For a moment, her eyes fluttered wildly around the room, as though she expected some danger.

  "It's only me," said Charles, wishing he had wakened her more gently. Julia passed a hand across her forehead.

  "My lord... Was I asleep? I don't remember falling asleep..."

  Charles hurried around the bed to her, taking one of her hands in his. He had taken off his travelling gloves on coming into the house, and Julia was not wearing any. The warmth in her hands startled him. Too warm, perhaps? Did she have a fever? "Miss Mallory is unwell," he said to the maid. "Go downstairs and have the cook send up a hot cup of tea directly. I will see her to her room in the meantime."

  "Certainly, my lord."

  Julia tried to smile. "There is nothing wrong with me," she said, as the maid hurried out of the room. "I only passed a troubled night." She glanced uneasily at the window. "Lady Annabelle heard footsteps beneath her window, and I did not want her to be alone."

  "Was Annabelle frightened?" asked Charles. Julia shook her head.

  "She believes it was the same fairy king she saw in the garden a few months ago. But after my experience on the way to Chiltern..." She ducked her head guiltily. Charles wondered what reason she possibly had to be guilty.