How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  “I am marrying Miss Hutting, Nate. Today. I am sorry you cannot like it.”

  “Today?” Nate said weakly. Surely he’d misheard. He looked to Alex for confirmation.

  Alex nodded. “Today.”

  Oh, God.

  “I’m only in London to procure a special license,” Marcus continued, “and to ask you to stand up with me and be my witness.” Hope flickered in his eyes. “What do you say, Nate? Can you put aside your worries and support me?”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. It’s finally happening. The curse is playing out. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  “No.” How could he stand next to his cousin while he, in essence, killed himself?

  Marcus’s shoulders drooped briefly and regret shadowed his face, but then he straightened.

  “Ah, well, that is what I was afraid you’d say. I am sorry for it, Nate. And now you must excuse me. I leave at once for Loves Bridge.” Marcus turned and headed for the door.

  “But . . . you aren’t really going to marry Miss Hutting, are you?”

  Marcus paused and looked back at him. “Of course I am.” He patted his coat pocket. “I have the license and I’m eager to use it. The vicar is going to perform the ceremony as soon as I get back to the village.”

  “But who will be your witness?”

  “Alex,” Marcus said, and then he left.

  Nate listened to his cousin’s steps echo down the corridor, and then he heard the front door open and close.

  He looked at Alex.

  “I’ll happily stand aside if you change your mind, Nate. You should be the one to support Marcus. I’m only a friend—you’re his cousin and the brother of his heart.”

  That’s why it hurts so much.

  Maybe if he could convince Alex to take his side, Marcus could be saved. “But marrying Miss Hutting will kill him.”

  “Perhaps. But wanting her—loving her—and not marrying her will kill him sooner. He’ll die inside, Nate.”

  “Zeus, Alex. Only poets believe that rubbish.”

  “Then I must be a poet, because I believe it.” Alex, face set, stared back at him.

  Desperation clawed at his throat. “All Marcus needs is a few hours with a practiced whore.”

  “I don’t think that’s true—and I don’t think you do either.”

  Nate fisted his hands. “You don’t understand. You can’t. You don’t believe in the curse, but it’s real. If Marcus is married to Miss Hutting and Miss Hutting is carrying a boy, Marcus will die before the child is born.”

  Alex sighed. “Nate, we all die. That’s life’s only guarantee—that it ends, and often when we least expect it. All we can do is live our allotted time as best we can. I believe Marcus loves Miss Hutting, but even if he doesn’t, you must see that he has no choice. It would be deeply dishonorable for him not to marry the woman. In a month or two, her pregnancy will show and everyone will know she had relations with some man.”

  “It’s just—” Nate swallowed. Bloody hell, he wasn’t going to cry, was he?

  “Your only choice is to accept Marcus’s decision or not, Nate, and if you choose not to, you’ll lose him now, not later, whenever that later may be.”

  Alex came over and rested his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot, all right?” He shook him slightly and then stepped back. “I’m off, but I promise to see the wedding delayed an hour or two to give you time to come to your senses.”

  Nate watched Alex leave, and then he stared down at the carpet, studying its intricate patterns as if the answer to his dilemma were hidden there.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Loves Bridge

  “I was certain we’d see the Duke of Hart back in Loves Bridge before this,” Jane said rather despondently. “I swear, when I spoke to Lord Evans at Mary’s wedding, he thought the duke would be offering for Cat very soon.”

  Anne stepped carefully over some tree roots. She and Jane were walking up the path through the woods from Jane’s house to the church. “Perhaps Lord Evans didn’t mean quite this soon, Jane. It hasn’t even been a month since Mary’s wedding. We shouldn’t give up hope yet.”

  Though she did feel rather hopeless. Papa and Mrs. Eaton—no, Eleanor. They’d decided, given their closeness in age, Anne should call her stepmother by her Christian name.

  Papa and Eleanor had arrived at Davenport Hall barely a week ago and, as she’d feared, everything had changed.

  Oh, she’d known she’d have to give up control of the household, and she’d steeled herself to do so with grace and generosity. She’d promised herself she’d hold her tongue when Mrs. Bigley came to her, as she was sure to do, and simply remind the housekeeper that she must consult Eleanor now.

  She needn’t have wasted a moment’s thought on the matter. Eleanor took up the household reins as if it was her right—which it was. And Mrs. Bigley accepted her without the slightest complaint. No one seemed to remember or care that Anne had run Davenport Hall for ten years.

  And that wasn’t the only thing. Within an hour of Papa’s return, Stephen and Edward, who’d been spending much of their time with her, transferred their attention to Papa. They went everywhere with him, like two little puppies, always at his heels.

  Which was fine, of course. Better than fine—excellent. She just hadn’t expected to feel such pain at their desertion.

  It’s not desertion. The boys need a father. It’s wonderful that they feel so comfortable with Papa.

  Papa was happy, too. She hadn’t seen him smile or laugh so much in years.

  It’s not just the boys raising his spirits. When he looks at Eleanor—

  She flushed. Best not to think about that.

  I should be happy for them all. I am happy. It’s just that . . .

  It was just that she was on the outside looking in. Papa was forming a family that she wasn’t really a part of. She felt like an intruder in her own home.

  “I don’t know.” Jane kicked an innocent stone rather viciously, sending it ricocheting up the path. “From what Cat said yesterday, they haven’t even written each other.”

  “Perhaps she thinks it would be too scandalous for her, a spinster, to write to the duke.”

  Jane snorted. “She’s living by herself. Who would ever find out?”

  They’d reached the gate to the churchyard. Anne laughed as she pulled it open. “Everyone. You know that. There are no secrets in Loves Bridge.”

  “True.” Jane cast her a sidelong glance as she slipped through the gate. “Speaking of secrets, what exactly did happen between you and Lord Haywood at that inn?”

  Even her annoyance at Jane’s question—and tone—couldn’t keep Anne’s heart from leaping at the sound of Nate’s title.

  Stupid heart.

  “Nothing happened—except I was attacked by a drunken man.”

  “Lord Haywood?”

  “No. Of course not Lord Haywood.” Jane could be so irritating at times. “Theodore Trant, Lord Alewood’s youngest son, whom I’m very happy to say I’d never met before and hope never to meet again.”

  Jane looked a bit crestfallen for a moment, but then her annoying brows started waggling as she and Anne walked through the churchyard. “But still. You were alone with the handsome, virile marquess. In a bedroom. All. Night. Long.”

  “With two young boys. Don’t forget that detail.” Jane had better not be thinking about Nate’s virility.

  “Young boys sleep like the dead, don’t they? I bet—oh!”

  Just then Poppy dashed from behind Isabelle Dorring’s headstone, passing so close to Jane’s feet that Jane almost tripped.

  Thank God for the distraction. Strangling Jane would not be a good idea, as appealing as it was at the moment.

  Anne bent and scratched Poppy behind the ears. I’ve never thanked you for saving me from disgrace in the Spinster House garden, she thought, moving her fingers to rub under Poppy’s chin. If the Boltwood sisters had found me wit
h Lord Haywood—

  “Merrow.”

  Exactly. Then I might indeed have been compelled to marry the marquess.

  Instead of relief, she felt a heavy sense of disappointment.

  She was an idiot.

  “Do you have catmint in your pockets?” Jane asked. “I’ve never seen Poppy pay you that much attention.”

  It was odd. Though perhaps odder still was how calming stroking the cat’s soft fur was.

  “No catmint,” Anne said, straightening.

  Poppy rubbed against her legs and then gave her a very direct look before running toward the Spinster House—stopping several times to look back.

  “I think Poppy wants us to follow her,” Anne said.

  “It does look that way.” Jane shrugged. “We should check on Cat anyway. She hasn’t been herself recently.”

  They had just reached the walk to the Spinster House when the door opened and Cat came bursting out. Poppy hissed and darted around to the garden.

  “Jane. Anne. How are you? Isn’t it a beautiful day? It’s so beautiful I couldn’t stay inside a moment longer.”

  Anne blinked. The day was rather ordinary—in fact, it was a bit too hot for Anne’s taste. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes!” Cat was almost dancing. “Everything is wonderful. Splendid. Brilliant! It could not be better.” She paused for a second and then laughed. “Well, yes, it could be better and will be when Marcus gets back from London.”

  “W-What?” Anne felt her jaw drop. She must look like a beached fish. “Is the duke coming to the village, then?”

  And if he is, Nate must be coming, too.

  Oh, Lord. Her heart and her stomach started dancing along with Cat—or perhaps they were spinning in terror. She couldn’t tell if it was excitement or anxiety at the thought of seeing Lord Haywood again that was making her feel as if she was about to vomit.

  “Yes, he is. And as soon as he arrives, we are getting married!”

  “M-married?” Anne looked at Jane.

  Jane was grinning.

  Of course Jane was grinning. She should be grinning, too. Once Cat said her vows, she’d move out of the Spinster House, and Anne—and Jane—would have another chance at it.

  That was wonderful.

  But if Cat marries the duke, Lord Haywood will lay the blame at my door.

  That was . . . Anne wasn’t certain what it was, but her stomach heaved at the thought. She swallowed determinedly.

  “This is very sudden,” Jane said.

  Cat blushed. “Yes. Well. We may have got a bit ahead of ourselves.”

  Anne had no idea what Cat meant, but Jane apparently did. She sucked in her breath, her eyebrows almost leaping off her face. “Well, well, well,” she said. “How interesting.”

  Cat frowned at her. “It’s not as if I’m the first bride in the history of the world to be increasing when I say my vows.”

  Increasing! So that meant Cat, the vicar’s daughter, the woman who wanted to spend her life writing novels instead of raising babies and tending to a husband, had . . .

  Good Lord! That meant Cat had gone all the way down the path whose beginning Nate had shown her at Banningly Manor.

  She should be scandalized, but instead she felt a stab of envy.

  Jane’s thoughts hadn’t lingered on Cat’s pregnant state. “Does my brother know about your impending marriage?”

  “I doubt it.” Cat blushed again. “We just made the decision this morning.”

  “This morning, eh?” This time only one of Jane’s brows lifted. “I don’t believe the post has come yet today. Did the duke send a messenger?”

  Cat’s face couldn’t get any redder. “I don’t see how it is any of your business, but he came himself.”

  Jane nodded. “Ah. Well then, surely the duke will want to get your successor chosen at once. Immediately after you say your vows and cease being a spinster, I would think.” She smiled a bit salaciously. “He won’t want to be bothered with annoying legal technicalities once he’s a married man.”

  Excitement—or anxiety—jolted Anne. Lud! I could know whether I’m moving into the Spinster House in just a few hours.

  “But what about posting announcements and waiting three days?” Cat frowned. “I don’t want to take any risks with Marcus’s life.”

  Neither Anne nor Jane pointed out that the bigger risk to the duke’s continued existence was Cat’s pregnancy and their imminent wedding.

  “I’ve been looking over the documents Isabelle Dorring had my ancestor draw up”—Jane grinned—“hoping that you might find your way to the altar sooner rather than later.”

  Cat looked surprised and perhaps a little annoyed. “Surely you have something better to do with your time than pore over old documents.”

  Jane shrugged. “If you were forced to share a house with my brother, you’d plan—” Jane cleared her throat. “I mean you’d be hoping and praying that the Spinster House opened up quickly. In any event, that Mr. Wilkinson was a very good solicitor and planned for every eventuality. The agreement provides that in cases of this sort where the spinster stays less than ninety days, lots can be drawn by the previously unsuccessful candidates without further delay.” Jane grinned. “In this case, by me and Anne.”

  “Oh.” Cat bit her lip. “If that’s true . . . well, it would be nice to have the Spinster House problem taken care of.” She laughed. “I’m not certain we should leave Poppy in sole charge of the place.”

  “Merrow.”

  Poppy had reappeared and was now sitting in front of the door, washing her paws.

  “Does that mean she agrees or disagrees?” Anne asked. Her heart had started to thud in a rather alarming way.

  I will know if I can move into the Spinster House very soon.

  Her stomach heaved again. She was going to embarrass herself right here on the Spinster House walk. She—

  Poppy came over and rubbed against her ankle in a surprisingly comforting manner. Anne bent to stroke her.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  That was the duke’s voice! Was Lord Haywood—?

  Her head snapped up.

  No. It was only the duke—and Lord Evans and Jane’s brother, Randolph—approaching from the direction of Cupid’s Inn.

  Her heart sank.

  Cat hurried to the duke and linked her arm through his. “I told them about our wedding, Marcus,” she said, her face glowing.

  He smiled down at her, looking just as besotted. “Excellent.” Then he forced his eyes from Cat to address Jane and Anne. “I hope you will attend the ceremony, ladies. It should be beginning shortly.”

  Lord Evans slipped his watch out of his pocket, frowned at it, and slipped it back in. “Perhaps in an hour.”

  The duke scowled.

  “We must give the vicar and Mrs. Hutting a little time to prepare, Marcus,” Lord Evans said. “I’m sure Mrs. Hutting must wish to invite the entire village.”

  “Yes, Marcus,” Cat said. “Mama would really like us to delay a week—”

  “No bloo—blasted chance of that,” the duke said, his scowl deepening.

  Cat smiled and patted him on the arm. “I know. But she is truly in a frenzy, getting a wedding organized so quickly. I fled to the Spinster House when she started talking about having Mrs. Greeley over to alter Mary’s dress for me. Giving her one more hour can’t hurt.”

  “Oh, very well.” The duke sounded extremely . . . frustrated.

  Good Lord, did the man intend to ravish Cat the moment their vows were exchanged?

  Anne quickly looked down at Poppy, who was now sitting on her right foot, in the hopes that no one had noticed her blush.

  Jane, of course, wasn’t at all interested in the wedding ceremony. “I’m delighted that you and Cat are marrying, Your Grace, but have you given any thought to the Spinster House? Your marriage will cause it to be empty again.”

  “No, I hadn’t considered the issue.”

  Likely he’d only be
en considering one issue—how fast he could get Cat back in his bed.

  Cat shook the duke’s arm. “Jane’s researched the issue, Marcus, and she says there’s no need to announce the opening again. She and Anne can draw lots right after the ceremony.”

  The duke’s brows shot up. “That would be convenient.” He looked at Jane’s brother. “Do you concur with your sister’s assessment, Wilkinson?”

  It was clear Randolph had no idea if he did or didn’t. “I’ll have to take a look at the document, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me, I will do that at once.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jane said, “and point out the relevant section.” She grinned. “It won’t take long. We’ll be back before the ceremony.”

  Jane left with her brother, and Cat finally asked the question that had been on Anne’s mind. “But where’s Lord Haywood, Marcus?”

  The duke’s expression darkened. “He—”

  “He’s here.”

  Oh, God! Anne recognized that voice. How could she not? It made her heart seize and then leap about in her breast.

  She looked down the walk toward Cupid’s Inn and saw Nate striding toward them. Her heart leapt again—

  And then froze.

  Lord Haywood looked as if he wished to rend her limb from limb.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nate stood next to Marcus at the front of St. Valentine’s, the Loves Bridge church. Miss Catherine Hutting was on Marcus’s other side and next to her, Anne.

  Anne. He’d whipped his anger to a frenzy on his mad dash from London to Loves Bridge. This was all her fault.

  But it wasn’t, of course. The rumors about Marcus and Miss Hutting in the bushes had long been forgotten. And while Anne had kept him talking after Mary Hutting’s wedding, Alex had also deterred him from looking for Marcus.

  And he’d deterred himself. He’d wanted to talk to Anne.

  No, if anyone—anything—was to blame, it was the curse. In his gut, he’d always known someday he’d lose his battle to keep Marcus safe.

  Today was that day.

  The organ music mercifully drew to a close. Mr. Luntley might be an excellent pianoforte player, but he was not an organist.