How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Oh, yes, yes. I got the annoying fellow’s letter yesterday. No, what I didn’t expect was to see you with Miss Davenport. Dare I hope you two traveled together?”

  “Why in the world would you hope that?” Miss Davenport said, rather too sharply for politeness. Her accompanying glare didn’t do anything to soften her words.

  While it might be amusing to watch the woman attempt to eviscerate Banningly, it would not be in Miss Davenport’s best interests to lock horns with her host, particularly at the beginning of a week’s stay and with his guests all now avidly eavesdropping.

  “Of course we didn’t travel together,” he said quickly. “How could we? I came from London, while Miss Davenport and her father journeyed from Loves Bridge. It was coincidence that we arrived only moments apart. Ah, and here is Davenport now. Did you get everything settled to your satisfaction, sir?”

  Miss Davenport was looking up at Nate with her mouth slightly agape. Well, he was a bit surprised by his sudden loquaciousness himself.

  “Yes, thank you.” Davenport’s eyes slid past him to scan the room.

  Banningly laughed. “Eleanor—and the other ladies—are in the nursery with the boys, but I’m certain she’ll be down shortly. She must have seen you arrive.”

  Davenport’s face lit up. “I believe I’ll save her the trouble and go up straightaway, if you have no objections. I’ve got presents for Stephen and Edward that I’m eager to give them.” He laughed. “I do hope I remember what seven- and five-year-old boys like. It’s been many years since I was that age.”

  “Run along. We’ll keep your daughter occupied,” Banningly said. “Unless you’d prefer to go up to your room now, Miss Davenport?”

  “Or you could come with me to meet the boys.” Davenport’s voice and expression were wary. “And the other ladies.”

  Miss Davenport just stared at them, her face white. She looked as if she might faint or cry or vomit—or do all three at the same time.

  “Permit me to take you for a stroll, Miss Davenport,” Nate said quickly. The sooner he got her away from this audience, the better. “I know my legs are rather stiff from traveling, and you had an even longer journey than I and likely on poorer roads.”

  Her gaze shifted to him and he saw the depth of her panic.

  “Yes.” She nodded and blindly put her hand on his arm. “That would be pleasant. Thank you.”

  “An excellent idea.” Davenport smiled at Nate and backed out of the room. “I’m sure that will be just the thing. Thank you, Haywood. Enjoy your walk, Anne.” He turned and almost ran toward the stairs.

  “You’re certain you wouldn’t like to have a cup of tea first and meet the gentlemen?” Banningly asked, gesturing toward the sea of expectant faces.

  Miss Davenport pressed her lips together and shook her head. She might have gone a little paler, if that were possible.

  “We’ll meet everyone before dinner.” Nate began to guide her toward the terrace and freedom. “Which room have you put Miss Davenport in, Banningly? I’ll see she finds it once we return.”

  “The yellow one.” Banningly grinned. “We’ve put you in the green.”

  Oh, hell. Those were adjoining rooms and, if he remembered correctly, there was a connecting door between them. Had Lady Banningly done some rearranging once she’d learned he was coming instead of George?

  Miss Davenport stepped out onto the terrace, and he followed her, closing the door behind them quickly, but not, unfortunately, quickly enough.

  “One hopes those two will make a match of it,” they heard Banningly say. “It would certainly be easier for Davenport and Eleanor if the girl—”

  Nate jerked the door latched more forcefully than necessary. “Banningly’s a meddling idiot. I’m sorry you—”

  “No.” Miss Davenport stood stiff as a poker, staring out over the garden. “I know P-Papa wishes to get rid of me. I told you that at Mary’s wedding.” She sniffed a few times and swallowed so determinedly he could see her throat move.

  He’d thought to take her on a short turn about the garden, but perhaps a longer walk would be a better choice. She had far too much emotion churning inside her to exorcise it with precise paths, carefully tended flowers, and ornamental shrubs.

  “If you’re willing to go on a bit of a tramp, I suggest we venture through the woods to the lake.”

  Miss Davenport still didn’t look at him, but she nodded her assent.

  They walked in silence across the terrace, down the steps, past the garden—she didn’t spare it a glance—and along the path to the woods. As soon as they were in among the trees, out of sight of the house, she dropped her hand from his arm. A few strides later, she broke her silence.

  “I knew P-Papa wanted to see Mrs. Eaton”—she pronounced Eleanor’s name with loathing—“but I d-didn’t know he also wished to throw me at your h-head.” She scowled. “I’m such an idiot. I should have seen it coming after what Papa said in the carriage.”

  He’d opened his mouth to defend Eleanor, but what came out was a question. “What did your father say in the carriage?”

  Color flooded her cheeks, though likely due more to anger than embarrassment. “That he’d asked his friends in London about you.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why did he do that?” Good God, did her father know about the liberties he’d taken with her in the shrubbery? But then why hadn’t he confronted him at Miss Mary Hutting’s wedding? “I thought you said you didn’t tell him about our, er, Spinster House activities.”

  She glared at him. “Of course I didn’t tell him. What do you take me for?” Her voice wavered slightly, though, and she looked away. “He saw us talking at the wedding.” She reddened further. “And yes, he noticed I was somewhat . . . untidy that evening I got back from the Spinster House after I . . . after we . . . after you attacked me.”

  “I did not attack you—you tripped on the ivy.” Though he had definitely behaved badly. Damnation, how had Miss Davenport managed to provoke him into so much foolishness? First, the insanity of the garden and then the conversation after the wedding. Of course her father had noticed their tête-à-tête. Everyone must have.

  “And you can absolve your father from planning to throw me at your head, as you so elegantly put it, Miss Davenport. He didn’t know I’d be here. Didn’t you hear me ask Banningly if he’d got word from George? That’s George Harmon—Banningly’s half brother and Ele—er, Mrs. Eaton’s brother. He was supposed to attend, but he wanted to go to a mill instead—at least that’s what he said, but I find myself doubting he told me the entire truth when he persuaded me to take his place.”

  Nate frowned. Blast George. He’d always been one to slip out of an uncomfortable situation if he could. “You can be certain that if I’d known what sort of a gathering this was, I would have refused all George’s entreaties.”

  * * *

  Anne’s heart sank. She’d had a bad feeling about this house party from the moment Papa had told her about it and insisted she come. “What sort of gathering is this?”

  She looked up at Lord Hellwood, but his face was in shadows. She couldn’t read his expression.

  “A family gathering, Miss Davenport.”

  A family gathering . . . oh, God, no. A family gathering meant—

  The marquess must be mistaken. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I recognized the men in the drawing room. Watch your step through this area, Miss Davenport. You don’t want to trip over a tree root.”

  “I’m used to country walking, my lord. You don’t need to worry about me.” That sounded rather surly, even to her own ears, but anxiety made it difficult to modulate her voice. A family gathering . . . And Papa had admitted in the coach that he hoped Mrs. Eaton could give him an heir—

  “Oh!” Drat it all, after insisting she didn’t need Lord Hellwood’s help, she’d stepped on a root and twisted her ankle.

  His hand shot out to steady her. Kindly—and wisely, since she’d likely have snapped
at him in spite of herself—he didn’t point out he’d just warned her of this danger.

  “Who were the men in the drawing room?” she asked quickly in case he was still thinking of saying it. He’d dropped his hold on her elbow as soon as it was clear she’d recovered her balance, but she kept her eyes trained on the ground to avoid another misstep.

  “Lord Inwood, Banningly’s cousin, and Lord Gleason and Mr. Kimball, husbands to Lady Banningly’s sisters. The only one not currently on some branch of the family tree—besides you, your father, and me, of course—is the vicar, Mr. Huntley.” He paused, and then added gently. “And I suspect your father may soon be joining the list of Banningly connections.”

  Not if I can help it. “Perhaps more guests are expected.”

  “Perhaps.” The marquess’s tone was carefully noncommittal.

  It did seem unlikely, especially as this house party followed almost on the heels of the last and had a collection of much older guests.

  Much older and already married.

  She risked looking up from her feet. “What of the Duke of Hart and Lord Evans? Aren’t they coming? I thought you never let the duke out of your sight.”

  He gave her a long look and she flushed.

  “Well, you were spying on him when he was in the vicarage bushes.”

  His brows snapped down.

  Her wretched tongue! She did not wish to brangle with Lord Hellwood, especially when he’d been so kind as to rescue her from that gang of men in the drawing room. “Pardon me. I did not mean to be argumentative.”

  “Oh, the duke would agree with you.” His mouth tightened. “He does not appreciate my, ah, concern for him.”

  Unexpected sympathy swept through her, and she reached out, lightly touching his arm. “Perhaps it’s just that he feels a bit smothered by it from time to time.” She forced a laugh. “I wish I had someone who was so interested in my well-being.”

  His brows rose. “You have your father.”

  She snorted. “No. I had my father. Now all he can think about is Mrs. Eaton and her ch-children.” She bit her lip and looked away. “You heard Lord Banningly. I will be very much in the way if—no, when—Papa starts a new family.”

  She could feel Lord Hellwood studying her, but she refused to look at him. She didn’t want to see the pity or disgust that must be in his eyes.

  “When did your mother die?”

  He’ll think me foolish, it was so long ago. “Soon after we returned from my first Season.”

  In her more rational moments, she knew the thought of Papa marrying again shouldn’t be so distressing. And it wouldn’t be if he was interested in someone closer to his own age. But this—it was embarrassing.

  “Papa was perfectly happy until he met that woman.”

  Lord Hellwood regarded her calmly. “How do you know?”

  Was he trying to provoke her? “How do I know what?”

  “That he was happy.”

  “He’s my father. Of course I know.” Though suddenly she didn’t feel quite so certain.

  Ridiculous. Yes, Papa had been spending a lot of time by himself, but he’d never been one to seek out social gatherings.

  Lord Hellwood was silent for a few moments and then, his tone carefully neutral, said, “Change is always difficult.”

  Now there was a profound statement. Good God. The patronizing poltroon.

  “Don’t tell me that. You’re a man. You’re in control of your life. You have the freedom to make your own decisions. I, on the other hand, have only two alternatives: find a man I can tolerate and marry him and then live subject to his whims, or remain a spinster and be a guest in my own home, deferring to my father’s wife.” Anger and frustration choked her, keeping her from saying more.

  Lord Hellwood shook his head. “Even putting aside the question of securing the succession, men are not as free as you say, Miss Davenport. I am chained by responsibilities to my lands and my people.” His voice roughened. “And I have the duke to look out for, no matter how much my efforts go against his wishes.”

  That wasn’t the same thing at all. “Oh, you don’t understand.” Of course he didn’t. Not only was he a man, he was a marquess, at almost the pinnacle of the peerage. He had no idea how it felt to be so powerless. She blew out a frustrated little hiss. “Oh, how I wish I’d won the Spinster House! I just hope Cat marries—”

  She suddenly remembered to whom she was speaking. She bit her lip and darted a glance at Lord Hellwood.

  He was scowling fiercely. “I thought Spinster House spinsters never married.”

  “They don’t,” she said quickly. “Well, they hadn’t until Miss Franklin. Everyone was shocked by that.”

  Did she sound guilty? She’d had nothing to do with Miss Franklin’s wedding, and her attempt—her very small attempt—at prodding Cat and the duke up the aisle hadn’t been successful.

  “But you just said you hoped Miss Hutting married someone. The duke, I presume.”

  “Of course I said that. I want to live in the Spinster House, and the only way I can is if Cat marries—or dies, but I certainly don’t want that to happen. Cat’s one of my dearest friends. I want her to be happy—just not in the Spinster House.”

  The marquess was still scowling. “If she marries the duke, the duke will die, and I don’t want that. Hart is more like my brother than my cousin, Miss Davenport. We grew up together.” His eyes were suddenly quite chilling. “I will not let anyone force him into matrimony.”

  They had stopped walking and were now standing toe to toe. Lord Hellwood was a good six inches taller than Anne and far larger and more intimidating. A sensible woman might be afraid—but she wasn’t afraid. She knew he wasn’t dangerous. They’d been quite alone in the Spinster House garden, and he hadn’t hurt her then, even though he’d been laboring under some very strong, ah, emotions.

  “I don’t see how anyone can force a duke to do something he doesn’t wish to do,” she said, “but even if that were possible, you needn’t worry. He’s already offered Cat marriage, and she declined.” Unfortunately.

  “Thank God for that.”

  The marquess started walking, and she fell into step with him.

  The trees met over their heads to form an almost magical green tunnel. Birds called to each other from the high branches, and small creatures rustled through the underbrush.

  I know Cat has strong feelings for the duke. How can I persuade Lord Hellwood not to fight so determinedly against their union?

  After all, the duke had to marry eventually if he wanted an heir, and all peers wanted that—look at her father.

  Instead, she looked at Lord Hellwood. He must want an heir, too.

  The thought made her stomach flutter. Stupid!

  “Don’t you want the duke to be happy?” she said quickly to distract her thoughts from the marquess’s procreative duties.

  Lord Hellwood frowned down at her. “Of course I do. But mostly I want him to be alive, Miss Davenport.” He raised a brow. “I might ask you the same question: Don’t you want your father to be happy? If you believe marriage is so vital to a man’s contentment, you should be encouraging him to wed.”

  A small shock went through her. There it was again. Papa’s happiness.

  She’d never really considered the question. Papa was just . . . Papa.

  And this marriage had nothing to do with happiness.

  “Papa merely wants an heir.” That was it. Her father was growing old and a bit . . . daft. Mrs. Eaton was taking advantage of that.

  She scowled up at the marquess. “Up until a few months ago, he was content to have Cousin Barnabas, his brother’s son, inherit. Barnabas is two years younger than I am and a bit of an idiot, but Papa always said he’d settle down and be sensible once he was past his salad days.” Her voice darkened. “And then he met Mrs. Eaton.”

  Lord Hellwood said mildly, “You know, Eleanor—Mrs. Eaton—is not a bad sort.”

  “Not a bad sort?!” She took a deep breath. She
must remember the woman was the marquess’s friend. “Oh, I suppose I can understand her point of view. She has her children to consider. It is a reasonable bargain: a home and security for them in exchange for”—she swallowed, feeling a bit ill at the thought—“a son for my father.”

  “Perhaps your father loves her.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure he wants her.”

  “And perhaps Eleanor loves your father.”

  “Oh, come, Lord Haywood. Mrs. Eaton is twenty-five years old—a year younger than I am. My father is fifty. Love has no part in the matter.”

  Strangely, Lord Hellwood did not agree. “Perhaps that would be true with another woman, but not Eleanor. She has not had an easy life, Miss Davenport. I am quite certain that she would not marry again for anything other than love.”

  They rounded a curve and came out of the trees. A sloping lawn led down to the lake, where a few ducks floated in the afternoon sun.

  “Is that an island?” Anne shielded her eyes. “And a cottage?”

  “Yes. The cottage is the old Lord Banningly’s doing. He was very fond of follies, but his first wife did not want the grounds sprinkled with Grecian temples so she limited him to this one.” He laughed. “Banningly can probably thank her for the financial soundness of the estate.”

  Anne snorted. “I wager many estates would be better off with a female in charge.” And she wouldn’t be in her current untenable position if she could inherit Davenport Hall.

  “You will not succeed in picking a fight with me over that, Miss Davenport. I happen to agree with you.”

  “You do?” She felt a spurt of pleasure. Perhaps Lord Hellwood was more than just a handsome face.

  And a hard, muscled body with clever lips and hands and—

  She flushed. She could not think about the scandalous things they had done together in the Spinster House garden.

  “Surprised you, have I?”

  “Well, yes. I didn’t think you were so enlightened.”

  “Perhaps you need to look to your own opinions and divest yourself of a few preconceived notions.”

  Her first reaction was to defend herself, but his smile disarmed her. She smiled back.