How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  The vicar opened his prayer book and began the ceremony.

  He’d almost stayed in London. He’d been so angry and worried and . . . and helpless after Alex had left that he’d been unable to move. He might still be sitting in his study if Wilson hadn’t looked in to see how he went on. That had broken the spell, and he’d decided he had to come.

  Because Alex was right. Marcus was the brother of his heart. Nate belonged at his side as his cousin started down this final path, his days counted now in months rather than years.

  But Marcus’s voice was strong and calm as he said his vows, and when he looked down at his bride, his love shone so clearly even Nate could see it.

  Hope flickered briefly. Perhaps Mum was wrong. Perhaps love will break the curse.

  Perhaps. What was certain was that there was nothing more he could do to affect the outcome. He could only sit on his hands and wait.

  God, he hated that thought.

  The vicar closed his prayer book. The die was cast.

  “Thank you for being here, Nate,” Marcus said as Nate shook his hand after signing the marriage registry. “I know you worry, but try not to. This is what I want, no matter how it turns out. I love Catherine, more than I can say.”

  “I know you do, Marcus.”

  A shadow briefly dimmed Marcus’s happiness. “But . . . But if the curse should win, will you act as guardian to my son as your father did to me?” He smiled. “Though you’ll need be guardian only. Catherine will be there to raise the boy.”

  “Of course I will.” Emotion clogged his throat as he clasped Marcus’s hand a moment longer, and then he turned to kiss Catherine on the cheek while Marcus moved on to accept Alex’s congratulations.

  “Welcome to the family, Duchess.”

  “Thank you, Nate.” Her eyes searched his. “I’ll take care of Marcus as best I can.” She smiled, though her smile wavered a little. “If it’s true that marrying for love will end the curse, then all will be well.”

  He saw the echo of his worry in her eyes. “Whether it’s true or not, Catherine, Marcus is happy—happier than I’ve ever seen him.” He touched her hand. “And if you ever need my help, you have it.”

  He turned to speak to Anne—he should say something, since he’d glowered at her so outside the Spinster House when he’d arrived—but Miss Wilkinson was already talking to her. And then Marcus and his new duchess were ready—and anxious—to deal with the Spinster House issue, so they and Anne and Miss Wilkinson and Mr. Wilkinson all left to choose the next spinster.

  He would speak to Anne later.

  Perhaps.

  He went over to the hall with Alex, his heart growing heavier with each step. He felt as if he should be attending a wake, not a wedding celebration.

  The party was already well underway when they arrived.

  Mr. Linden was playing his fiddle again, but this time Mr. Luntley was at the pianoforte. Nate cringed when the man hit a wrong note. Apparently he’d not found time to practice while nursing his elderly mother.

  “Uncle Nate!” Edward ran over to hug his knees, and Nate’s spirits rose briefly.

  Alex took a quick step backward. “I’ll leave you with the infant set,” he said. “I’m off to get some ale.”

  “Right.” Nate hugged Edward back and looked up to smile at Stephen, who was hovering a foot or two away. “Hallo, Stephen. I just got your letter. It sounds as if you like your new home.”

  Stephen nodded.

  “It’s perfect!” Edward tugged on his sleeve to regain his attention. “I have a pony. I named him Carrot because he likes carrots. And I’ve got a kitten, too. I call him Whiskers. He’s white and black and orange like Poppy, so I thought Poppy was his papa, but Papa said Poppy is a girl so she couldn’t be Whiskers’ papa.”

  “Very true.” Nate glanced at Stephen again. Why was the boy hanging back? Was something bothering him? “Stephen said Lord Davenport is teaching you both to ride.”

  “And to swim,” Edward said. “I told him you taught us, but Papa said we need to learn some more.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he also said you could marry Miss Anne if you wanted to.”

  “W-what?!” Blast it, where had that come from?

  Davenport and Eleanor must have been talking about him where the boys could overhear.

  “That’s not what Papa said, Edward.” Stephen finally closed the gap between them, a look of determination on his face. “What Papa said, Uncle Nate, was that it was up to you and Miss Anne. I think you should marry her.”

  “I do, too, ’specially now that Uncle Marcus is married.” Edward patted Nate’s leg. “So you aren’t lonely.”

  Oh, God. Lonely. Yes, he knew that feeling. He’d always been alone, the one watching, protecting, keeping the curse from Marcus.

  Only to lose the battle.

  A dark, heavy sadness closed in on him.

  “We have Mama and Papa now,” Edward was saying, “so you can have Miss Anne.”

  Stephen nodded. “I think she’d marry you if you asked her.”

  “I did ask her, Stephen. You know I did. You heard me.” Surely he’d mentioned marriage at that dreadful inn?

  “I heard you tell her. You didn’t ask her.”

  But he had asked at Davenport Hall. Anne had still said no.

  “You said you could advo-thingy yourself,” Edward said, “but I don’t think you ever did.”

  “Advocate. And it so happened that Miss Anne’s reputation wasn’t ruined so we didn’t have to marry.”

  Stephen scowled at him. “But don’t you want to marry Miss Anne?”

  “Er, I think it’s more a question of whether Miss Anne wants to marry me, Stephen. She’s over at the Spinster House now, you know, hoping to be the next Spinster House spinster.”

  Anne didn’t need him any more than Marcus did.

  Stephen shook his head. “I don’t think she wants to be a spinster.”

  “You probably didn’t ask her the right way,” Edward said, helpfully.

  Nate laughed in spite of himself. Now he was supposed to take wooing lessons from a five-year-old? He shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s the right way?”

  Edward wrinkled his nose. “Girls like kissing,” he said with loathing. “And if that doesn’t work, you can put a baby inside her.”

  “What?!” Shock and something earthier jolted him.

  Stephen nodded. “That’s what Mama said Uncle Marcus did to get Miss Hutting to marry him.”

  He was quite certain that no matter what Eleanor had said, this wasn’t what she’d meant.

  “Boys, Uncle Marcus loves Miss Hutting very much—and she loves him. That’s why they got married.” He wasn’t about to mention the baby and how it got where it was.

  “Don’t you love Miss Anne?” Stephen asked.

  “Mama says you do,” Edward said.

  Fortunately, Linden and Luntley struck up another tune just then, and Edward ran off to join a group of children, laughing and capering about to the music.

  But Stephen hung back. “I think you should ask her,” he said. “She’s been missing you.” And then he, too, ran off.

  Nate watched for a moment, marveling at how carefree the boys looked.

  Had Anne missed him?

  No. Stephen was a sensitive boy, but he was only seven years old. He wouldn’t know how Anne felt.

  But if she had . . .

  He could marry now. His vow to his mother was over. Marcus had chosen his course.

  He should marry if he was going to become the next Duke of Hart’s guardian. Yes, Catherine would be there—he’d never discourage her from raising her son the way his parents had discouraged Marcus’s mother—but it would still be good to have a wife in case something happened to Catherine and he needed to take charge of the boy.

  But if Anne won the Spinster House, she wouldn’t need to marry. And he couldn’t see her giving up her independence for anything but love.


  Could she love me?

  Perhaps the more important question was could he love her?

  The dark sadness answered him: No. Not now. He couldn’t feel anything now.

  He should have a word with her father, though. They’d never discussed what had happened at the Three Legged Dog.

  He went in search of the baron.

  He encountered Eleanor first.

  “Oh, Nate, it’s so good to see you,” she said, taking his hand.

  He managed to smile at her. “Marriage seems to agree with you, Eleanor. You look very happy.”

  “I am, Nate. So happy.” Her expression turned serious. “And I’ve been wanting to tell you how wrong I was about Anne. I think I was just worried she’d persuade Richard not to marry me”—she touched her still flat belly—“though of course with the baby coming, I knew she couldn’t. But I didn’t—”

  She shook her head. “No matter. I was wrong. I owe you an apology for speaking of her the way I did at the Manor. I’m sure my coming to the Hall was very hard for her, but she’s been wonderful with the boys and very good in turning over the household to me.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Though I do think she’d be happier if she had her own home.”

  “Perhaps she will. She is over at the Spinster House now, drawing lots.”

  “Oh, you know that’s not what I mean!”

  Davenport came up then, rescuing him. “We must thank you for seeing Anne and the boys home so we could go off for a few days, Haywood, though I’m sorry the trip was so difficult.”

  “I assume Anne told you all the details?”

  “About there being only one room available?” Davenport frowned. “And the business with Alewood’s youngest. I’m glad no permanent harm was done”—he smiled somewhat grimly—“except, perhaps, to Trant’s nose.”

  “Yes.” He could feel satisfaction about that. “I was able to stop any talk in London, but I told Miss Davenport she should write me if—”

  Davenport held up his hand. “Don’t worry. The Boltwood sisters chattered about it for a day or two, but that was the extent of it.” The baron laughed. “No need for anyone to step into parson’s mousetrap over that.”

  “Unless you want to,” Eleanor added.

  “Now don’t tease him, Eleanor. He—and Anne—are quite capable of managing their lives without our help.”

  “But—”

  Nate bowed. The sooner he got away from Eleanor, the better. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get some ale.”

  “Do take some time to talk with Anne,” Eleanor called after him as he retreated.

  “Leave the man alone, Eleanor,” he heard Davenport say.

  “Have a nice chat?” Alex approached carrying two glasses of ale. He offered one to Nate.

  “No.” Nate took a long swallow. “Eleanor and the boys think I should marry Miss Davenport.”

  “Ah.” Alex smiled, but didn’t comment. “Marcus was very happy to have you by his side while he said his vows, you know.”

  “I know. I hate to admit you were right, but you were. I just wish—” No. There was no point in bemoaning the curse to Alex.

  Alex cuffed him on the shoulder. “Let’s pretend I’m right.”

  “What? That there’s no curse?” He wished he could believe it. Marcus had said he’d found papers—

  No. You could read as many old letters and diaries as you liked. The incontrovertible fact was that for two hundred years, every Duke of Hart had died before his heir’s birth.

  “Oh, I’m willing to grant you the curse,” Alex said, “as long as you’ll grant me the part that says when the Duke of Hart marries for love, the curse will be broken.”

  He’d like to believe love could do that. But—

  He shook his head. “How can I trust Marcus’s life to something so intangible as love?”

  Alex raised his brows, holding Nate’s gaze. “Honor is intangible, Nate, as is courage. Trust. Friendship. We build our lives on intangibles, don’t we?” He smiled. “Often the things we can’t touch are more important—and more permanent—than those we can. Love, for example.”

  “I’m surprised that you, of all people, would say that.”

  “Why? Because Lady Charlotte jilted me?” Alex shook his head ruefully. “I grant you sometimes what one thinks is love is only infatuation or lust or something else—some wish for family or stability or what have you. But that doesn’t mean love doesn’t exist. Or that it isn’t vitally important.” Alex paused and grimaced. “Gad, don’t I sound like a pompous ass?” He took a long swallow of his ale.

  Blast it, he hadn’t meant to cause Alex to relive such a painful memory. Nate took a drink of his own ale and glanced around the room.

  “Don’t look now,” he said, “but it appears Miss Wilkinson is heading this way.” There was something about the woman Nate couldn’t like.

  Alex did not appear to share his antipathy. He grinned. “Yes, I see. And she looks quite peevish. I’ll wager the Spinster House lottery did not go her way.”

  The woman bore down upon them, her expression shifting with each step from disgruntled to determined.

  “Well, Miss Wilkinson,” Alex said as soon as she drew near enough for conversation, “did you enjoy the wedding ceremony?”

  Miss Wilkinson smiled through gritted teeth. “Of course. I’m always happy to see a spinster married, as long as it’s not me.”

  “Oh, I think your turn will come,” Alex said. “You just need to find the right man, one who values you for your many, er, strengths.”

  Something was going on between these two, but Nate couldn’t decide if it was fighting or flirting. Whatever it was, he didn’t wish to observe it. “If you will excuse me, Miss Wilkinson? I shall leave you to brangle with Lord Evans to your heart’s content.”

  “Ah, your heart’s content, Miss Wilkinson.” Alex grinned, his tone teasing . . . and something else. “Doesn’t that sound splendid?”

  Miss Wilkinson’s eyes narrowed. “I believe Miss Davenport has need of you, Lord Haywood.”

  “For what?” Alex asked. “To tell him she’s the new Spinster House spinster? I assume she won the draw?”

  Miss Wilkinson’s eyes narrowed further and her nostrils flared. “She did.”

  “Too bad.” Alex’s tone was almost taunting.

  Good Lord, did Alex wish to have the woman slap him—or perhaps box his ears? Her fingers had curled into fists.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll go along then and see what she wants. Is she at the Spinster House?”

  “Yes.” Miss Wilkinson glanced at him. “She needs you to help her lose something.”

  His brow shot up. “You mean find something.”

  “That, too.”

  How very odd. He left Alex and Miss Wilkinson glaring at each other and made his way briskly to the nearest door.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nate stepped out into the warm June day and felt the sun on his face. His spirits lifted . . . until he remembered.

  This might be the last June Marcus sees.

  He jerked the door shut behind him, but the sounds of the party—the lively music, the drone of conversation, the trill of laughter—spilled out through the open windows.

  He had to get away from all the bloody merriment.

  He started walking up through the churchyard.

  Alex told him to believe love could break the curse, but even Alex admitted it was difficult to tell the difference between lust and love.

  The noise of the party grew fainter, replaced by birdsong and the rustle of tree leaves and—

  A cat’s meowing.

  The bloody Spinster House cat was following him.

  Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away.

  He wandered in among the headstones. A bird hopped on one—but took flight at soon as it saw the cat, leaving behind its wet, white calling card. Even in death, there was no dignity.

  He snorted. Of course there wasn’t. Life went on. The dead were just a fadi
ng memory, mourned by a few who then died themselves.

  He read the headstone—it was Isabelle Dorring’s. Now that was one person who’d not been forgotten—unfortunately. It was bloody damnable that one woman—one spinster—could cause so much suffering—two hundred years of it....

  Damnable? Precisely. He was tempted to spit on the blasted tombstone, but he’d let the bird’s comment stand for his.

  And now the curse was playing itself out in Marcus’s life. Zeus! He really wanted to believe love would bring a happy ending to this sad tale—Marcus and his duchess deserved a long life and many children—but two hundred years of history said he’d be a fool if he did.

  “The devil and Miss Dorring must be having their own party in hell today,” he muttered.

  “Merrow!”

  He startled. He’d forgotten the stupid cat was there. “What? You don’t agree?”

  The cat hissed—and then sat down to clean its side. He watched its tongue move over and over what appeared to be the same spot.

  “Why don’t you go home, if you don’t like my opinion?”

  The cat ignored him.

  Nate sighed and looked across the road at the Spinster House. Does Anne really need me?

  No, of course not. Miss Wilkinson had likely made that up for her own unfathomable purposes. Miss Davenport must be too busy singing and dancing for joy to give him a thought.

  In that regard, everything had worked out perfectly. The rumors of their stay at the Three Legged Dog were forgotten, Anne and Eleanor no longer had to live under the same roof, and Anne hadn’t been forced to marry to achieve her freedom.

  He frowned. Anne hadn’t been forced to marry him.

  That was a good thing, no matter what the boys thought. She must be happy. He, however . . .

  I’ll be happy if Marcus is still alive next summer.

  “Merrow.”

  The cat had finished its toilet, at least for the moment, and was now staring at him.

  “I’m not especially fond of cats, you know.”

  The cat twitched its tail in acknowledgment.

  “And I especially don’t like you after your antics in the Spinster House garden. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have ended up on the ground with Miss Davenport.”

  The cat snarled.