How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  Silly. Of course not. Anne turned over and fluffed her pillow. It was still early. She’d sleep for a while longer.

  Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

  There it was again.

  She sat up—and thanked God that the room didn’t spin. Nate’s—Lord Haywood’s—nasty remedy must have worked. She had a dull ache behind her forehead, but it was nothing compared to how she’d felt last night.

  Perhaps it’s Nate at the door.

  Her heart leapt in excitement—and then seized with fear. Had he lost his mind? What if someone saw him?

  The knocking was getting louder. She scrambled out of bed and dashed across the room, cracking the door open to peer out.

  “Nate!” she hissed—and then realized she was addressing empty air.

  “Miss Davenport?”

  She dropped her gaze to find a boy with bed-tousled hair and a large covered basket looking anxiously up at her.

  “Y-yes?” She’d definitely not expected this.

  “I’m Stephen Eaton, Miss Davenport. I-I need to speak with you.” He swallowed and seemed to stiffen his spine. “Please.”

  “Ah.” Stephen Eaton? This must be one of Mrs. Eaton’s sons. The older one, who was seven. He was too tall and angular to be the five-year-old. Not that she had much experience with children, but he looked more like Cat’s sister, Sybbie, who was six, than her four-year-old twin brothers.

  Poor fellow. He was getting a new parent just as she was, but she was a grown woman and he was just a child.

  He gestured to the basket. “I’ve brought breakfast.”

  “Oh. Er, that’s very nice, but I’m not dressed.”

  “You can get dressed.” He frowned. “Though I hope you don’t take as long as Mama does now that she’s seeing your papa.”

  “I . . .” She wanted to decline, but this boy was going to be her stepbrother. She should get to know him. “All right. I’ll be quick.”

  He smiled, which made him look almost angelic. “I’ll wait outside, at the bottom of those stairs.” He’d picked up the basket with both hands, so he pointed with his chin toward the stairs she’d used last night. “And do hurry. I’m hungry.”

  She nodded, but he’d already started down the corridor.

  She closed the door and considered her clothing options. It was still very early—the grass would be covered with dew—but fortunately she’d thought to bring one of her old dresses in the hopes that she’d get some time to explore Lord Banningly’s grounds. She pulled that on, shoved her feet into her walking shoes, and grabbed her bonnet.

  Master Eaton should be happy with her speed.

  She stepped out into the deserted corridor and hesitated. Should she knock on Lord Haywood’s door and ask him to come with her? He must know the boy. Having him there might make things more comfortable....

  No. Lord Haywood was likely still asleep. And Stephen had come to her, not Nate. That had been rather brave of him. She could be just as brave.

  And he’s going to be my brother.

  She’d ached for a sibling when she was a girl, especially when she was around Cat’s large family. Even Jane had a brother, as distasteful as Randolph could be at times.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, pushed open the door, and squinted, blinded briefly by the sun. It took her a moment to see him, waiting off to the side.

  He grinned, though his smile was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Oh, good. You were quick.”

  In the sunlight, she could see his hair was light brown, and his eyes were brown, too. He was thin—skinny, really—all arms and legs.

  And far too serious. “If you will come this way, Miss Davenport?” He struggled to pick up the basket.

  “Call me Anne,” she said, reaching to take it from him. “Let me carry that.”

  At first she thought he’d not give his burden up, but he finally surrendered it to her. “It’s very heavy,” he warned.

  It was heavy. “What do you have in here?”

  “Breakfast.” He flashed his elusive smile again. “I said I was hungry.”

  “You must be.” Though where he’d put all the food he must be planning to eat was a mystery. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on his frame.

  She followed him toward the same green, overgrown bower she’d occupied last night with a much older male—and remembered the unpleasant manner in which she’d left it.

  “Let’s sit over here,” she said, turning toward a tidy patch of grass and putting the hamper down there.

  Stephen opened it and pulled out a large blue and white cloth. “Mrs. Limpert—that’s the cook—said I had to have this if I was going to eat outside with a lady.” He frowned worriedly up at her. “I had to tell her about you so she’d put enough food in, you see.”

  “Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

  He nodded as he finished spreading out the cloth—with Anne’s help. “She didn’t think you’d eat much, you being a proper lady and all, but I told her you would be hungry since Mama said you hadn’t eaten your dinner.”

  What was this? She tried to keep her annoyance out of her voice. “I’m surprised your mother noticed what I did or didn’t eat, and I’m even more surprised she mentioned it to you.”

  The boy flinched ever so slightly. Perhaps she’d not hidden her feelings as well as she’d thought.

  Or maybe a boy who lived with a violent father learned how to read every nuance of voice and face and body.

  “She didn’t tell me. She told your father. I just heard.”

  And he also learned to use his ears.

  She smiled at him. “I am a little hungry.” She’d likely be hungrier if she hadn’t drunk so much last night. Just as Lord Haywood predicted, her stomach was a bit fragile this morning. “What did Mrs. Limpert pack?”

  They emptied the basket and then sat down together. There was quite a feast—cheese, bread, a couple meat pies, and several slices of seedcake.

  “I couldn’t bring any tea, but I did bring a jug of water.”

  Ah, that had likely added substantially to the basket’s weight. “Lovely. Do let me pour.”

  Stephen nodded. “I’m not very good at that,” he confided. “I’d probably spill water everywhere.”

  Anne managed the task with no difficulty. “Can I serve you, Stephen? What would you like?”

  “A bit of everything.” He gave her his ephemeral smile. “Mrs. Limpert’s seedcake is very good.”

  “Then it is very fortunate she gave us a lot.” Anne’s eyebrows rose. “It looks like she put the entire cake in here.”

  “She was going to give me only two slices, but I asked for more.” His smile flashed again. “She likes me.”

  “I’m sure she does.” Mrs. Limpert had also packed two plates. Anne put some cheese, bread, a meat pie, and a slice of seedcake on Stephen’s plate before handing it to him. Then she took some seedcake for herself.

  Stephen started in on his breakfast as if he hadn’t eaten in days while Anne watched him and nibbled on her cake.

  Stephen will be my stepbrother, but he’s young enough to be my son.

  Odd. She’d never been terribly interested in children, but she felt surprisingly maternal at the moment.

  Best get on to the point of this meeting.

  “You said you needed to speak to me, Stephen?”

  He nodded, his mouth still full. He took a drink of water to clear it. “Yes. I—” Anxiety shadowed his eyes again. “You know my mama is going to marry your papa and have a baby with him?”

  “Yes.” Lud! To be having this conversation with a seven-year-old boy.

  Stephen swallowed. “I need to know what your papa is like. My papa . . .” He turned very pale. “Mama left him because he beat me. Does your papa beat children?” He sat up a little straighter. “I ask not just for myself, you understand, but for my little brother, Edward. He’s only five. He doesn’t remember our papa very well.”

  Oh, God. She’d just met this boy, yet her heart was br
eaking for him. “No, Stephen. My father does not beat children.”

  “And does he beat women? Or shout or say mean things?” Stephen looked down at his plate. There was a half slice of seedcake there, but he ignored it. “Mine did. Mama thought I didn’t know, but I heard him. And I knew she didn’t get her bruises from walking into a door or falling down the steps.” He sniffed rather desperately and then swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I’m glad he’s d-dead.”

  “Stephen.” Anne moved to sit next to him. She had the surprising urge to wrap her arms around him; instead, she touched his hand. “My father won’t hurt you or your brother or your mother. I promise.”

  His eyes met hers, his expression serious. He looked more like a grown man than a little boy. “He’s never beaten you?”

  “Never. And he never hit my mother, either.”

  She thought a little stiffness went out of his body.

  “That’s good, then,” he said, but he didn’t pick up the last bit of seedcake.

  “What else is troubling you, Stephen?”

  At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he stayed quiet so long. She held her tongue and waited.

  Finally, he said, “Hedlow—that’s our governess.” He frowned. “Well, she’s more of a nurse, really, which is fine for Edward, but I’m old enough to have a tutor except Mama doesn’t want to impose on Uncle William more than she already is by living here and eating his food.”

  “I’m sure the viscount can well afford to have you, Stephen!” Good heavens, was Banningly making Mrs. Eaton feel beholden to him? “Your mama is his sister.”

  “Half sister.”

  “I don’t see where that has anything to say to the matter. You’re family.”

  Stephen did not look convinced, but he chose not to pursue that argument. “Hedlow said that Lord Davenport was only taking us because he wants Mama.”

  “Stephen! Your governess said that to you? That’s terrible.” How dare the woman speak so cruelly, and to children who’d already suffered a violent father? She’d like to find this Miss or Mrs. Hedlow and tell the woman exactly what she thought of her behavior.

  “Oh, she didn’t say it to me. I heard her tell Arthur, the footman she likes.” He looked anxiously up at her. “And I wasn’t eavesdropping. They were standing right there in the schoolroom. Grown-ups think children don’t listen to them, but I always listen.” A shadow flitted through his eyes. “It helps to know things.”

  “Stephen, I—” How could she reassure the boy?

  “And now that he and Mama are having a baby together, I expect we’ll be even more in the way.” He squared his shoulders. “But we won’t be in the way. Edward can get into trouble sometimes, but I’ll watch out for him. Your papa can ask Uncle William. We aren’t underfoot. We stay in the nursery.” He looked hopefully at her. “If your house is rather large, he need never see us if he doesn’t want to. And I am almost old enough to be sent away to school. I know my numbers and letters. I’m quite good at them.”

  “Stephen.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

  He looked at her as if she’d told him not to breathe.

  “I will tell you something that doesn’t reflect well on me, I’m afraid. When my father and I were in the carriage coming here, I was arguing with him about his attachment to your mother. I accused him of forgetting my mother, who died many years ago, before you were born. And he said that he had room in his heart for more love.”

  Stephen shrugged. “For Mama and the new baby. Not, perhaps, for me and Edward.”

  “And you know what else? I was jealous when we arrived and he rushed upstairs to the nursery immediately.”

  “He wanted to see Mama.”

  “Yes, but I think he also wanted to see you. He’d got you presents, remember?”

  “My papa would get us presents, too, when he wanted to make up to Mama.”

  Stephen was a very difficult child to reassure. And it was true she didn’t know for certain how Papa and Mrs. Eaton would behave once they were wed and had a child between them. But she would try to calm Stephen’s fears.

  “Your mama loves you, doesn’t she?”

  Stephen shrugged. “Yes, but Uncle William and Aunt Olivia say she’s not very strong-willed.”

  This boy needed to stop listening to the loose-lipped adults around him. At least, at Davenport Hall, he’d be spared a good bit of that. She would suggest to Papa this Hedlow person not make the move to the Hall. She did not sound at all suitable.

  Not that it was any of her concern—

  I will make it my concern.

  “You said your mama stood up to your father when he beat you. It must have taken a lot of courage to leave him and come here. I think she must love you very much and will always look out for you.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “And I will be there, too, you know. I am not afraid of anyone. You need only come to me if you have a problem. I’ll help you.”

  Stephen’s eyes grew large, and he picked up the last bit of seedcake, which she took to be an encouraging sign. “But why would you help me?”

  “Because you will be my brother, Stephen.” She smiled at him. “I’ve always wanted a brother or a sister.”

  “Really?” He grinned—but the grin faded quickly. “But you won’t be there.”

  “What do you mean? Of course I’ll be there. I live at Davenport Hall.”

  “But you won’t much longer.”

  She’d be alarmed if his words made any sense. “Where will I be?”

  “Hedlow told Arthur that even though you were quite old and on the shelf, your father would manage to get rid of you somehow.” He took a bite of seedcake and so far forgot his manners as to speak around the crumbs. “She thinks he’ll persuade Uncle Nate to take you.”

  “I’ll take Miss Davenport where?” a deep voice asked.

  Anne looked over to see Lord Haywood standing nearby, holding a little boy’s hand.

  Chapter Eleven

  Miss Davenport turned an interesting shade of red and ignored his question.

  “Cake!” Edward squealed. “I want cake, too!” He dropped Nate’s hand and ran over to Stephen, who obligingly gave his little brother part of his seedcake.

  “Miss Davenport,” Stephen said, “this is my brother, Edward. He’s five.”

  Nate had been rather worried when he’d heard Stephen’s voice and then Miss Davenport’s. He’d not been able to make out the words at a distance, but he’d hoped Anne was being kind, even though she’d no particular reason to like Eleanor’s boys. Still, he thought it possible she’d take some of her displeasure with her father’s betrothal out on Stephen. He’d hurried over, making poor Edward run to keep up with his long strides.

  “Good morning, Edward,” Miss Davenport said. “Do sit down. There’s more seedcake in this basket if you’d like some of your own.”

  “Huzzah!” Edward plopped down right next to Miss Davenport and leaned against her so he could look in the basket, too.

  “Edward!” Stephen said quite sharply. “Sit back. You are crowding Miss Davenport.”

  “But I want cake, Stephen.” Edward looked up at Anne with large, beseeching eyes. “May I have some cake, Miss Davenport?”

  “Of course,” Miss Davenport said, smiling down at Edward without any sign of offense at his behavior. “But you and Stephen should call me Anne. We are going to be brother and sister, you know.”

  She gave Edward some cake and then turned to Nate.

  “Would you like a slice of seedcake, too, my lord? Or perhaps some bread and cheese? Or this meat pie? I’ve hardly used my plate, so you may have it.” She winced slightly and blushed. “As you warned me, I’m not terribly hungry this morning.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.” He should say more, but the sight of Anne with the two young boys was doing odd things to his heart.

  They could be her children. She is, as she’s pointed out
, a year older than Eleanor.

  I could be their father—

  Where the hell had that thought come from?

  He pushed it aside and sat down on the corner of the cloth that was spread out on the ground. “Bread and cheese would be splendid.”

  “Uncle Nate can have my plate, Miss”—Stephen paused—“A-Anne. I’m done with it.”

  “Thank you, Stephen,” Anne said, “but you might want some more cake.” She smiled.

  “Well . . . yes.” Stephen bit his lip. “Could I have a bit more?”

  Anne laughed and handed Stephen another slice.

  The boy must have a hollow leg. He ate constantly and yet always looked as if he were on the verge of starvation.

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t like this meat pie, Lord Haywood?” Miss Davenport asked then, glancing at him as she filled his plate.

  “Well, if you insist, I suppose—”

  “You should call him Uncle Nate, too, Miss Anne,” Edward said suddenly, halting his seedcake’s progress to his mouth so it was suspended in midair, “since you’re going to be our sister.” The cake completed its journey.

  Anne’s cheeks flushed as she dusted some crumbs off her skirt. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that.”

  Thank God.

  “Why do you call Lord Haywood uncle, boys? He’s not your mother’s brother.”

  “He’s our Uncle George’s friend,” Stephen said, “and Mama’s friend, too, for as long as she can remember. Isn’t that right, Uncle Nate?”

  “Yes. I—”

  “Oh!” Edward’s eyes widened as if he’d just thought of something important. “Wait! You can’t call him uncle, Miss Anne.”

  “Edward!” Stephen frowned at his little brother. “That’s the second time you’ve interrupted Uncle Nate.”

  Edward shrugged—clearly he was young enough that his spirit had not been dimmed by Eaton’s violence. “But I just remembered, Stephen. Mama never called Papa uncle and she doesn’t call Miss Anne’s papa uncle either.” He turned to Miss Davenport. “Mamas call papas by their first names, so you should call Uncle Nate just Nate, Miss Anne.”

  Anne almost dropped the plate she was handing him. He grabbed it just in time to keep the cheese and bread from tumbling all over the ground.