A Kiss for the Marquess (Wedding Trouble, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Hugh! Darling!” His mother’s voice bellowed, its strength not decreasing with her age. “Over here.”

  His mother had settled on a blanket between Lady Letitia and an older woman whom Hugh imagined must be the woman’s mother.

  “Join us!” his mother called again.

  Hugh nodded curtly and made his way toward them.

  “Lady Letitia was just telling me about her relatives on the continent. Quite fascinating.”

  “Oh?”

  Lady Letitia extended him a smile. It was not very wide, but nothing about her seemed shy. In fact, she appeared composed. Her back was straight, and she’d smoothed her dress, so it had no creases.

  “Sit down.” His mother gave a stern look to a space on the blanket that Lady Letitia’s dress did not occupy, despite its abundance of flounces and frills.

  “I will be happy to,” Hugh said gallantly, and Lady Letitia flashed him the same calm, disinterested smile that would not look amiss on an Italian Renaissance painting.

  Hugh settled onto the blanket.

  “Would you care for a strawberry?” Lady Letitia offered him a plate.

  “Thank you,” he said, picking one up.

  “Oh, you are being so domestic!” His mother clapped her hands, and a few of the other women turned their heads to them.

  Hugh returned his gaze to the woman opposite him. This was his time to speak with her. “Do you ever visit your family in the Austrian Empire, Lady Letitia?”

  “Oh, I’m certain she doesn’t do that,” Hugh’s mother interrupted. “Far too distant.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do see them,” Lady Letitia said. “I will join them after this visit, unless–er–”

  For a moment, even the elegant Lady Letitia seemed at a loss for words.

  “Unless my son proposes,” Hugh’s mother finished for her.

  “Precisely,” Lady Letitia said.

  “Do you plan to be there for long?” Hugh asked. “Assuming that–er–”

  Lady Letitia nodded. “Until the next season begins in January.”

  “I see.”

  “You have invited some quite international people,” his mother said.

  “I suppose so.”

  The world had changed now the war with France was over. People could travel more.

  “Miss Braunschweig was a late invitation,” he admitted.

  “Oh?” Lady Letitia turned her gaze on him. Her eyes seemed intelligent, and he worried he’d said too much.

  “Are you acquainted with her?” Hugh asked. “From–er–your visits in the Austrian Empire?”

  “No,” Lady Letitia said. “I have never come across any Braunschweigs there.”

  “I would have thought Austrians here would know one another more,” Hugh’s mother said.

  Lady Letitia gave a tight smile, and Hugh swallowed hard.

  He was being ungentlemanly.

  He should be asking Lady Letitia questions about herself, not about another person.

  “Tell me, Lady Letitia, are you fond of picnics?” he asked.

  “Oh, of course,” Lady Letitia said. “They are so festive!”

  “Yes,” Hugh said.

  Lady Letitia’s eyes glimmered. “Have you thought about installing permanent benches and tables here?”

  “Permanent ones?”

  She nodded. “Unless part of the interest of a picnic is the opportunity to see beetles at close sight.”

  “Oh?”

  She gestured to a quartet of beetles that had crawled onto the blanket and seemed to be observing them.

  “Heavens!” his mother screeched, and Hugh hastened to remove the beetles from the blanket.

  He looked around, and most of the ladies seemed to sit stiffly. Perhaps this was not going quite as well as he’d thought.

  “I–er–should speak to the others,” he said.

  He resisted the urge to join Miss Braunschweig and Miss Carberry, but Miss Braunschweig remained on his thoughts as he made conversation with the other guests.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ONE DIDN’T MOVE HOUSE parties to the capital, and Emma had assumed the marquess was jesting when he declared he would.

  Lord Metcalfe, apparently, was not most men. He must have ordered the servants to make the transfer at the picnic, for when they returned, the servants were in the midst of preparing for the move. Ellen had already repacked their clothes, and they were soon ushered onto a long boat on the river.

  They’d floated past Hampton Court, past idyllic nature that had given way to less idyllic ships and boats filling the waterway and staining the river brown and gray.

  But now they’d arrived in London and had been swept into carriages.

  This was the capital.

  This was the city that so many people talked about.

  Emma gazed at the passers-by. Shore boats flitted over the river, as if they were determined to create makeshift bridges that were every bit as thick as the most intelligent civil engineers might create, even if they were not as high.

  “It’s so crowded,” Emma murmured.

  “I suppose it is,” the marquess said. “Though you should see the other side of the Thames. That’s where the large ships come through.”

  “How tiresome!” Lady Henrietta murmured, fanning herself. “Arriving in London in such a manner. I feel so exposed.”

  “I think it’s great fun,” Lady Letitia said.

  Lady Henrietta fixed her calm placid cerulean eyes on the other woman. “You would think that. You sail across the channel all the time and think nothing of it.”

  Lady Letitia’s lips curled. “Was I supposed to dislike it?”

  “A true aristocrat has the aristocratic stomach to match,” Lady Henrietta proclaimed. “I’m English and was meant to stay on this island.”

  “You sound like my maid,” Lady Letitia said. “She’s refusing to come with me to the Austrian Empire. It will be terribly tiresome to find a new one. They don’t seem to understand that a ship truly is able to stay afloat. So much praying and hand wrangling.”

  “I imagine this is quite unlike the Austrian Empire,” the marquess said.

  Mrs. Carberry’s eyes narrowed, and Emma inched away from the marquess, even though the effort seemed to require a strength she’d never associated before with widening gaps between torsos.

  “But I would wager it’s not unlike Scotland,” Emma said brightly.

  Miss Carberry frowned, and Emma swallowed back a sigh.

  No doubt there were all sorts of distances between this place and Scotland.

  “My daughter would never wager,” Mrs. Carberry said triumphantly.

  “How very honorable of her,” the marquess said, but Emma noticed that the other women were smirking. Even the duke seemed amused.

  “My daughter is quite aware of the sins of gambling,” said Mrs. Carberry, “and she is far too economical to succumb to such baser instincts.”

  “How virtuous,” the duke murmured. “Did you hear that, Beechmont?”

  “I for one would have no trouble having a husband who gambled,” Lady Henrietta said, raising her voice. “I recognize that male needs are quite different.”

  “And they entail gambling?” Mrs. Carberry asked in a shocked voice.

  Emma shook her head slightly, and Mrs. Carberry flushed.

  Perhaps she remembered that men in London were prone to occupy themselves with gambling, finding pleasure in gaming hells that they didn’t find otherwise.

  The older woman coughed. “Of course, my daughter also would have no moral difficulties either.”

  “You need not worry,” Lord Metcalfe said. “I no longer gamble much.”

  “He’s a reformed rogue,” his friend explained. “The dullest sort.”

  “But the best husband,” Lady Henrietta murmured.

  The others stared at her, and she tossed her hair. “So they say.”

  An awkward tension filled the air, and Emma forced herself to gaze at the scenery, ra
ther than gaze at the marquess.

  He wasn’t the least bit how she’d imagined him to be. She’d thought he’d either be timid and shy and completely under the thumb of some matriarchal force determined to have grandchildren, or that he would be vivacious and rakish and determined to enjoy the company of eight women at once. She wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he’d declared that he would not marry anyone after all, but she’d heard him speak with passion about his parents and their relationship, and she knew he adored the prospect of marriage.

  I just have to ensure he wants to marry Miss Carberry.

  Her heart heaved. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine her brother was a proper baron with a castle back at home.

  But that wasn’t who she was.

  That would never be who she was, no matter her brother’s determination to secure a higher rank, for them to no longer spend their lives in a tiny village in the mountains.

  It had been difficult to get where she was.

  Her brother had taught her English from old etiquette books. She hadn’t known his plan then. Perhaps he hadn’t had it until later, perhaps not even until he was on the ship headed for England, and he realized he didn’t want his life to be the same as it had always been, just with the added difficulty of a new language, a new culture, and an utter dearth of acquaintances and friends.

  She wished his dream could be possible.

  She wished people could actually determine who they wanted to become, and that the people who were shyer and uncomfortable with the weight and scrutiny that came with being an aristocrat might step away from their duty, and the people, like her brother, who were comfortable with it, could vie for it.

  HUGH STROLLED THROUGH London with Jasper. Clouds flitted above, allowing occasional glimpses of an uncharacteristically blue sky. Sunbeams spilled tangerine light over the clouds, but the long rows of elegant houses were of even more interest.

  Normally when Hugh was in London, he spent his time at Hades’ Lair or White’s.

  “The ladies are confused,” Jasper said.

  Hugh frowned. “All of them?”

  Jasper sighed. “Perhaps not all of them. Just the upper echelon.”

  “I presume you’re speaking about Lady Letitia and Lady Henrietta?”

  “The Dunham sisters are disappointedly dull and spend all their time being silent together. But yes, Lady Letitia and Lady Henrietta were expecting a quiet house party, not to be dragged back to London at the peak of its heat.”

  “Perhaps not all of the women have been to London,” Hugh said.

  Jasper frowned. “What woman hasn’t been to London?”

  Hugh was silent, and Jasper’s eyes widened. “Miss Braunschweig? This is about her, isn’t it?”

  Hugh hesitated.

  It was about Miss Braunschweig.

  And yet, he didn’t want to rapturize over a woman he hadn’t won.

  He’d kissed her, and it had been bloody wonderful, and then she’d run away, as if the melding of their lips together had not meant anything after all.

  “If I am to marry, I would expect my wife to spend time in London,” Hugh said stiffly. “It is only natural that I would want to see my future wife’s impressions of the city.”

  “That does sound reasonable,” Jasper said, but his mouth was still twisted, just as it did when he was playing whist with some people and seemed doubtful of the validity of their hands.

  “I thought you would be upset,” Hugh said.

  Jasper widened his eyes. “Upset?”

  “She wasn’t your favorite.”

  “That’s true,” Jasper said. “And she wasn’t the favorite on your score sheet either.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Perhaps I made some errors in creating the fields for the score sheet.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t take into consideration how your heart would feel.”

  Hugh grew uncomfortable. He didn’t typically converse about hearts, particularly not his own.

  “Though, in all honesty, she is unideal. I was surprised you invited her,” Jasper said.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carberry insisted I invite her.”

  “Lord Metcalfe! Lord Metcalfe!” A male voice boomed.

  “Good Lord,” Jasper muttered. “It’s Sir Seymour.”

  Hugh’s hitherto jovial mood dampened, as surely as if Sir Seymour were carrying about a bucket of water and tossing it upon his conversation targets.

  His neighbor could be trying. Sir Seymour scurried toward them, moving his rotund figure speedily over the tilestones.

  Hugh braced himself for another monologue about the joys of shooting and the ridiculousness of art, two of the old baronet’s favorite topics.

  “I’m hosting a ball tonight,” Sir Seymour announced. “Had I known you were in town, I would have invited you.”

  Hugh smiled politely.

  “But never mind!” Sir Seymour rushed to say. “I shall invite you now.”

  “That’s quite gracious of you,” Jasper said. “But of course, my friend and I are quite busy, and this is short notice.”

  “No,” Hugh said.

  “No?” Sir Seymour asked, as if wondering if Hugh had succumbed to rudeness.

  “I mean,” Hugh said. “No, it’s not too late.” He smiled, and Sir Seymour met it with a grin. “I will be happy to join. May I bring some guests?”

  “Naturally,” Sir Seymour said. “It will be a great honor to have you.”

  “Then I’ll send over a guest list,” Hugh said.

  Sir Seymour’s voice faltered. “A list? You can tell me now.”

  “It’s quite long,” Jasper said, grinning.

  Sir Seymour’s face didn’t whiten, though his eyes goggled. “I heard a rumor you were having some sort of gathering of women?” He raised his voice, as if he felt he must have made a mistake. “Of course, I’m certain it can’t actually be true. That would be absurd. That would be–”

  “Your information is correct,” Hugh said, interrupting him.

  “And my friend even finds the idea non-absurd,” Jasper added. “Though I share your doubts.”

  Hugh turned to him. “That’s not your job as best friend.”

  “It’s an unpaid position,” Jasper said blithely. “There are bound to be mistakes.”

  “I will make no mistakes,” Sir Seymour said with a flourish. “An Amberly never makes mistakes.”

  Hugh smiled. Sir Seymour was everything that was wrong about the ton. He was vain and had a definite desire to be flattered.

  Yet, for some reason, Hugh only felt amusement in his presence.

  Perhaps he was feeling happiness, one that even Sir Seymour’s unctuousness could not extinguish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IT WASN’T EMMA’S FIRST ball, but a rush of nervousness swept through her as the marquess approached.

  She hadn’t been wrong in considering Lord Metcalfe handsome before, but she hadn’t expected her heart to rush with such rapidity. Candlelight flickered through Sir Seymour’s ballroom, glowing from the elaborate buffet table, adorned with drinks and bite-sized pieces of food, and illuminating everyone in the room. The guests were all dressed elegantly, and some couples danced as the musicians played.

  “I think the marquess is going to ask me to dance,” Lady Letitia declared. “He has that determined look in his eyes.”

  The women giggled as the marquess approached.

  “I’m certain he’ll want to dance with all of us,” Lady Henrietta said. “That would be only fair.”

  “But the next dance is the waltz.” Lady Letitia looked at her dance card. “That’s why it’s significant he’ll dance with me.” She raised her chin, as if already prepared for compliments on her premonition.

  The marquess wove through the crowded ballroom and then stopped before them.

  Lord Metcalfe did not ask Lady Letitia to dance. Instead, he turned to Emma. “Would you care for this dance?”

  “Me?” Her voice squeaked, and his lips twitched.


  “Indeed.”

  “That would be nice,” she said uncertainly, conscious of Miss Carberry on one side of her and Lady Letitia on the other. “Unless of course you would desire to dance with one of the other women first?”

  “No,” the marquess said simply.

  Emma smiled tightly and reached for his hand. Despite the fact she wore gloves, her skin still tingled at the touch. Obviously, haberdashers needed to improve the thickness of the material they used.

  “You seemed almost reluctant.” There was a note of suspicion in his voice.

  “I’m happy,” she squeaked, lest he wonder why she’d chosen to attend this particular house party. “Just–er–”

  The man was smiling.

  Smugly.

  “Is it possible you’re nervous?” he whispered, as he led her to the ballroom floor.

  “Nervous? Me?” She frowned. “You needn’t look so pleased about it.”

  “It is an emotion I’m unfamiliar with, I must confess,” he said.

  “Is that so?”

  He shrugged. The music played, and they danced.

  “I suppose you don’t have much to be anxious about,” she murmured.

  “You find me already perfect?” His eyes glimmered, sending a thrill through Emma’s body.

  “You’re cocky,” she announced.

  He laughed. “I have a beautiful woman in my arms.”

  “You also have several other beautiful women waiting.”

  His face grew more serious, and she regretted her statement.

  “I wish we had met another way,” he said, swirling her in his arms. “Though I can’t be completely sorry. I’m simply glad we met all.”

  “I’m not special.”

  “You underestimate yourself.”

  “Well, I have been spending time with the other women,” she said quickly. “Miss Carberry impresses me in particular.”

  “Your friend?”

  “We weren’t that close before.”

  “How odd. Her mother begged me to bring you.”

  She shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Well, I think Miss Carberry is most amusing as well. Had I been invited first, I would have insisted she join too.”