“I would offer for you,” Lord Hellwood was saying, “and you would accept. Miss Hutting is fortunate the gossip of her trip to the bushes with the duke died quickly—and that she had the Spinster House to fall back on.”
I hope I have the Spinster House. The duke and Cat have been gone almost an hour.
“Well, since there’s no gossip about us, we do not have to worry about the matter.”
If there’d been even an ember of gossip, Jane would have blown it into a conflagration and danced in delight in the light of the flames. Should Anne and Cat both fall into parson’s mousetrap, Jane would be the last spinster standing and could waltz right into the Spinster House.
“But how did your father know we’d met if you didn’t tell him?”
How had Papa found out? He didn’t make a habit of coming into the village, and he never spoke to the Boltwood sisters.
She thought back over that evening.... Of course. “Mrs. Greeley!”
“Mrs. Greeley?”
“Yes. Remember the stout, bespectacled woman we saw when we were walking back to Cupid’s Inn?” Fortunately Mrs. Greeley’s vision wasn’t very good. She could not have seen their expressions. “She’s the village dressmaker. She’s also Mrs. Bigley’s—our housekeeper’s—cousin. She must have told Mrs. Bigley, who told Mr. Bigley, who told my father.”
Oh, Lord. And Papa noticed that evening that my hairpins were missing and I had leaves in my hair. Did I really tell him that I’d been rolling around in the bushes kissing a man?
I did.
She felt a hand on her arm and blinked up at Lord Hellwood. He looked quite concerned.
“You’ve gone a bit greenish-white again, Miss Davenport. Are you all right?”
“Y-yes.” She was being silly. If Papa thought Lord Hellwood had dishonored her, he’d insist the marquess wed her. Her marriage would kill two birds with one stone, after all: it would repair any damage to her reputation and get her out of the house before he brought Mrs. Eaton in.
“As I said, my lord, you do not have to worry. My father would have wasted no time in trying to force you to offer for me if he knew about our . . . activities in the Spinster House garden. He puts as much stock in reputations and honor as you do.”
Lord Hellwood nodded. “As well he should.”
“And he wants to get rid of me.”
Oh, blast. Now Lord Hellwood was looking concerned again. She didn’t want that. “But Papa hasn’t spoken to you, so you can gallop happily home to London without a backward glance.”
The marquess’s jaw hardened again. If he kept that up, he’d grind his teeth to dust.
“I am indeed relieved. Marriage does not fit into my plans at this time.”
Marriage didn’t fit into her plans ever, but she couldn’t keep her unruly tongue from saying, “Why? Because you’ve designated yourself the duke’s guardian? I can’t imagine he likes that much.”
Which was a mistake. She certainly didn’t wish to remind the marquess that he might want to look around to see where His Grace had got to. Which is, of course, exactly what he did.
He frowned. “Where is—”
She was saved by Mrs. Hutting.
“My lord, I hate to interrupt, but do you suppose you might resume playing now?”
He looked as if he wanted to decline to go searching for the duke, but Mr. Linden was already tuning his fiddle and Mrs. Hutting was smiling in expectation of his compliance. In the end, good manners—and perhaps kindness—won out.
“Yes, of course. Please excuse me, Miss Davenport.”
Chapter Six
London, the following week
Nate sat in his study in Haywood House going through correspondence from his stewards. His men were excellent, but that didn’t change the fact that he should spend more time on his properties. Hadn’t he just been taking Marcus to task for being an absent landowner?
He finished writing a letter and sanded it. There weren’t any problems requiring his immediate attention. He’d ride circuit in a month or two. Marcus should be willing to come along with him then. His cousin liked seeing the places where they’d grown up together.
Oh, God. He sat back and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He’d wager a month’s rents that Marcus would refuse to accompany him.
What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t leave Marcus now that the curse was twisting his cousin’s mind. If Miss Hutting hadn’t declined Marcus’s marriage offer . . .
He shook his head as if that would dislodge the thought from his brain. He could not—would not—contemplate what would have happened then.
Nate sealed his letter and stood. He wasn’t going to get any more work done this morning. Normally he’d go over to Hart House, but Marcus had made it very clear that he wasn’t wanted there.
That hurt.
He strode out of his study and almost ran into his butler.
“My lord,” Wilson said, clutching his breast, “you startled me.”
“My apologies, Wilson. Were you looking for me?”
“Yes, my lord. I came to tell you—”
“That I’d stopped by on my way to White’s.”
Nate looked over to see Alex walking toward him. “Splendid. I was just heading that way myself.” He glanced back at his butler. “Wilson, I’ve a stack of letters on my desk. See that they are posted, will you?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Shall we ask Marcus to join us?” Nate asked as he and Alex descended the front steps. Though now that he considered the matter, he realized Alex had had to pass Hart House to get to his place. “Or have you already spoken to him?”
Alex nodded, frowning. “For some reason, Marcus won’t leave the house until after the post arrives. Said he’d come by White’s later.”
“What could he be expecting in the post?” Nate avoided a fresh mound of horse dung as they crossed the street.
“I have no idea.” Alex glanced at Nate. “He looks like hell, you know, and has the devil’s own temper.”
“Ah. So I’m not the only one he’s been snapping at.” From the moment they’d mounted their horses to leave Loves Bridge, Marcus had been peevish. At first Nate had thought Miss Davenport was correct and his cousin was just chafing under Nate’s watchfulness, so he’d tried to keep his distance. But if Marcus was short-tempered with Alex as well, something else must be at work. “Perhaps I should have a word with him.”
Alex snorted. “Only if you wish to have your head ripped off. I hinted that he seemed a trifle out of sorts and he just about boxed my ears.”
That was not like Marcus at all. “It must be the curse.”
“Oh? I would have thought it was Miss Hutting.”
Nate stopped—and caused a stout man, following a bit too closely, to yelp and do an impressive series of steps to avoid running into him.
“Pardon me, sir,” Nate said, bowing.
The man bowed in reply—with a glare—before continuing on his way.
“Fellow’s lighter on his feet than I would have guessed,” Alex said, watching him move off. “He’d make a good pugilist with that footwork.”
“He could fight Gentleman Jackson and win for all I care. What do you mean Miss Hutting’s to blame? I thought that was all settled.” Of course it was. It had to be. If it wasn’t—
Nate forced his anxiety down and spoke more calmly. “Marcus offered and the woman declined. The gossip was dead and buried by the time of her sister’s wedding. She’s comfortably established in the Spinster House. Marcus can have a clear conscience.”
“I wager it’s not his conscience that’s troubling him.” Alex started walking again.
Nate frowned at Alex’s back and then caught up to him. “What do you mean? If not his conscience, then what?”
“His heart”—Alex grinned—“and a far less noble organ.”
“Ridiculous!” Good God, Alex couldn’t be right, could he? Miss Hutting was pretty enough, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing like
Miss Davenport, whose blue eyes and blond hair—
“Didn’t you notice how Marcus watched Miss Hutting during her sister’s wedding?” Alex asked.
“Of course I didn’t. I was playing the organ, remember?”
“And you didn’t notice him follow her out of the parish hall either.”
“What?!” Nate’s blood roared in his ears. Alex had known Marcus was in danger and had done nothing to save him? He grabbed Alex’s arm. “You said he’d gone outside to the jakes.”
“Eek!” a female voice shrieked.
This time the person following them did not manage to stop. A matronly female slammed into Nate’s side, her bonnet’s feathers slapping him in the face and obstructing his view of his assailant.
“Lady Dunlee,” Alex said, “how lovely to, er, bump into you.”
Oh, hell, the queen of the London gossips. She was likely eavesdropping so intently she didn’t see me. How much did she hear?
Nate brushed some feather bits off his face and looked down into the woman’s gossip-hungry, beady little eyes.
“I hope the Duke of Hart is well?” she said. “It’s so unusual to see you without him, Lord Haywood.”
“He’s quite well, Lady Dunlee. Thank you for your concern.”
“Hmm.” She turned her attention to Alex. “Everyone was so surprised when the duke stayed in Loves Bridge after he’d dealt with the Spinster House issue. And then he—and both of you—attended the wedding of an assistant steward and a vicar’s daughter! Well, I’m certain you can imagine how tongues started wagging then. I mean, the girl is the Earl of Penland’s niece, but she’s the third of the lot to get married. No one knows why Penland even bothered with it. He missed the last Hutting girl’s nuptials. Do you know why he was there this time?”
Fortunately she addressed that question to Alex.
“I have no idea, Lady Dunlee. You will have to ask Penland.”
Her eyes swiveled to regard Nate. “The oldest Miss Hutting is still unmarried, I believe.”
“Yes.” He was not going to make it easy for the old crone.
Lady Dunlee waggled her brows. “Could there be a wedding in her future? A marriage to a certain duke, perhaps? That would be quite the coup. Think how jealous Miss Rathbone and the other London girls will be when they learn that some unknown country miss has snatched the Duke of Hart from them.”
He wanted to wrap his fingers around Lady Dunlee’s neck and squeeze until her annoying voice was silenced for good. It would be a public service. The ton would thank him.
Alex laughed, which drew the nasty gossip’s eyes in his direction.
“Oh, Lady Dunlee,” Alex said, “haven’t you heard? The woman moved into the Spinster House a couple weeks ago. She plans to live husband-free for the rest of her days.”
“Oh?” Lady Dunlee sniffed. Clearly, she did not like Alex’s insinuation that she was unaware of any gossipy detail. “I doubt that will last, not if she has a duke sniffing around her skirts.”
“The duke is not ‘sniffing around her skirts.’” Nate clasped his hands behind his back to keep from shaking the woman. “And Miss Hutting will not change her mind. In two hundred years, not one spinster has left the Spinster House to marry.”
“Oh?” Lady Dunlee smiled much as he imagined that damnable Spinster House cat would before it dispatched a mouse. “And what about the new Duchess of Benton, hmm?”
Perhaps just this once he could be forgiven for being less than courteous to a female.
Alex rode to his rescue again. “Well, Lady Dunlee, it took the new duchess twenty years to come round to marrying Benton. In twenty years, you’ll be”—he paused for effect—“too old to care.”
Lady Dunlee’s feathers trembled with indignation. “Well! I hope you do not mean to imply that I’m advanced in years, Lord Evans.”
“Oh, Lady Dunlee, I don’t mean to imply anything.”
Nate raised his hand to hide his grin. Lady Dunlee looked at Alex with suspicion. She must realize he was insulting her, but the affront was too subtle for her to take exception. Or perhaps she was too vain to fathom that anyone would dare criticize her.
She sniffed dismissively. “I doubt I’ll have to wait even one year to wish the duke happy. I saw him at the Endover ball last night. He had the distracted look of a man in love”—she smirked—“or in lust.”
Nate struggled to keep his expression bland and his voice level. “Have you forgotten the curse, madam? The Duke of Hart is only thirty. He’s not about to risk his life by marrying anyone.”
I hope.
“I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” The woman smirked again. “Good day, my lords.”
Nate scowled at Lady Dunlee’s retreating back. “Bloody gossipmonger. How much of our conversation do you think she overheard?”
Alex sighed as they started walking again. “Enough. It is too bad Miss Hutting’s name will be bandied about, but I suspect interest in her will die quickly”—he sent Nate a sidelong look—“unless Marcus does marry her.”
“Marcus is not going to marry Miss Hutting.” But Nate’s stomach twisted itself into a tight knot anyway.
When they reached White’s, they sought out a quiet corner. Nate glanced around to be certain no one was within earshot this time and then got back to the subject of Marcus. He kept his voice low. Low, but intense.
“Alex,” he almost hissed, “you told me Marcus had gone to the jakes when I asked you where he was.”
Alex shrugged. “I believe I said that might have been his destination. The man is human. Even a duke must answer nature’s call.”
“He was gone far too long for that. And you just said, there on the street before Lady Dunlee ran into me, that he’d followed Miss Hutting out. You’d failed to mention that fact before.”
“Er, yes.”
“So they’d arranged an assignation?” Bloody hell! I should have gone looking for Marcus. I knew I should have.
“No, I don’t believe so. If anything, I would have said Miss Hutting was determined to avoid Marcus.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Though I’m somewhat doubtful she succeeded.” He shrugged. “They were gone for over an hour.”
“What?!”
Fortunately, this part of White’s was almost deserted. Almost—not completely. The few men sitting around drinking coffee and reading their papers sat up and looked over.
Nate hunched his shoulder and turned his back on the staring eyes. “He was gone that long?” he muttered.
Alex nodded.
Why the hell didn’t I go looking for him as soon as I noticed he’d left the room?
Because you wanted to speak to Miss Davenport, you idiot.
“Nate, you can’t dedicate your life to watching Marcus.”
“I not only can, but I will. I have.”
Alex shook his head. “You have your own estates to look after.” He raised an eyebrow. “Your own heir to get.”
Miss Davenport’s face flashed into Nate’s mind.
He pushed it aside.
“I have good men overseeing my properties. I visit them at least once a year. I’ll have time for . . . for the other later. There’s no rush.”
Alex frowned, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something—and then sat back in his chair. “You’re treating Marcus like a child, Nate.”
Nate was quite certain that was not what Alex had first intended to say, but he would actually rather talk about Marcus than Miss Davenport. “No, I’m not.”
“You are. Would you want someone constantly looking over your shoulder, shadowing your steps, worrying about everything you did? Hell, it’s like having to drag your nanny and tutor along with you everywhere you go.”
Put that way, it did sound rather bad, but then Alex didn’t believe in the curse. “It’s necessary.”
“It’s insane. And it’s driving Marcus mad. You saw how he chafed under your never-ending vigilance.”
“If I wasn’t vigi
lant, he’d do something stupid. He’s done something stupid.” Nate ran his hand through his hair. If only he could make Alex understand. “It’s the curse. It’s twisting his thoughts.”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t know which is the bigger curse: Isabelle Dorring’s or your constant supervision.”
That was unfair. “Marcus knows I’m only concerned for him.”
“And that’s probably why he hasn’t put a bullet through your brain yet.” Alex sighed. “Look, Nate, even if you’re right and Marcus is doomed, at least allow him to live as he chooses in the time he’s allotted.” He leaned forward, holding Nate’s gaze. “And live your own life. If you put that off too long, you may find you have nothing and no one left.”
Miss Davenport’s face intruded again, blast it.
“You don’t understand.” God, he was sick of saying that. “I—”
Alex held up his hand. “Time to change the subject. Marcus just arrived.”
Nate looked over to see Marcus walking toward them. His cousin smiled, but that did little to dispel the tightness of Marcus’s expression.
“Have you been here long?” Marcus asked as he took an empty seat.
“Not long,” Alex said. “I take it the post arrived?”
“Yes.”
“And did you get what you were waiting for?” Nate asked.
Marcus brushed some invisible dirt from his pantaloons. “Oh, I’m not expecting anything in particular.”
Oh, God, he’s lying to me again.
What happened to our thirty years together, Marcus? We’re closer than most brothers. We’ve shared everything. Why are you locking me out now?
Perhaps Alex was right. Perhaps Marcus did feel cursed by Nate’s concern.
Fortunately another man approached them then. “Hart and Haywood—and Evans, too. Well met!”
Nate had never been so happy to see George Harmon, the genial half brother of Viscount Banningly, in his life. Their fathers had been particular friends, so Nate and Marcus had spent quite a bit of time with George and his younger sister, Eleanor, growing up. In fact, the old Lord and Lady Banningly had made it painfully clear they wished Nate would marry Eleanor one day. He’d felt a bit guilty, especially after she’d made the mistake of chaining herself to Eaton, but even if he’d been looking for a wife, he hadn’t been able to feel more than brotherly affection for Eleanor.
How to Manage a Marquess Page 8
