Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  He dragged his eyes away from her, laughing at himself mentally – what sort of fool was he, to be mooning over the woman that all of these men were here to woo, when he couldn’t even afford new clothes, let alone anything a woman might want?

  But he could still feel her eyes upon him – warm, non-judgemental, interested… he would treasure the memory of that feeling, even if he never felt it again.

  ~~~~~

  Even though Oliver Kentworthy was very much alone in his views, the young Marquess conducted himself with commendable restraint and exemplary manners. If his father had gambled away the family fortune and left the Dartworth estate in a parlous state, Oliver Kentworthy had shown himself well able to rise to the challenge and capable of doing whatever was necessary to support himself. Georgiana was secretly surprised that she found those qualities of independence and initiative more appealing than the wealth and titles that were on offer at this banquet of possible bridegrooms.

  At length, the Duke rose from his seat and invited his guests to join him in the library. Whilst it was not usual for the gentlemen and ladies to leave the dining room together, with so few ladies present, the Duke had decided that all of the gentlemen retiring for port and abandoning them would be rather rude. Not to mention the loss of an opportunity for Georgiana to start to get to know some of them. He was, however, a little concerned at the amount of wine that some of his guests had already consumed. He wanted them to present well to young Lady Georgiana, after all! Two footmen opened the library doors as the guests approached and a roaring log fire cast its warmth upon the room.

  There was some rather unseemly, and poorly hidden, scuffling and pushing as the gentlemen jockeyed for position, each one trying to sit as close to Georgiana as possible.

  With some firm guidance from the Duke and the assistance of a pair of burly footmen in adjusting the placement of chairs, the guests were finally seated and Cordelia graciously accepted her future husband’s invitation to play the piano. A natural musician, she played with grace and charm and the room soon stood to applaud and cheer her performance.

  The Duke smiled, enjoying the opportunity to bask in the glow of his young bride’s accomplishments. She smiled at him, acknowledging that her playing had been intended for his pleasure. Georgiana found the moment quite charming and applauded her sister’s delightful interpretation of a difficult classical piece.

  The Duke turned to Georgiana and asked if she would be kind enough to offer the assembly a sample of her musical talents. Georgiana blushed as she smiled.

  “Your Grace, I must confess that I am completely without the least shred of ability and have never studied the musical arts. Fortunately, my dear sister has more than enough talent for the two of us.”

  The Duke frowned in disappointment.

  “You do not play an instrument, my girl? But it is such a fundamental feminine accomplishment!”

  “I am afraid, your Grace, that I do not.”

  “Clearly, you might have profited from more study of music as well as the usually masculine pursuit of chess.” Miss Millpost, unnoticed by the Duke, pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed in annoyance at this sad demonstration of the predictable male perspective. She sighed.

  “I am sure that Your Grace is perfectly correct,” Georgiana replied, with her eyes downcast, “but I fear it is probably far too late to remedy my shortcomings in the musical arts. Cordelia has been playing since she was a small child.”

  The Duke was evidently not pleased with her reply.

  “In the light of Lady Georgiana’s wishes, do we have any volunteers in the room who might aspire to offer us a tune or two?”

  The moment passed and two gentlemen stood up simultaneously to take the seat at the piano. There was another bout of unseemly posturing as the men competed for the small stool.

  “Gentlemen!” The Duke’s voice rang out and the two men ceased their inelegant struggle. “I had hoped for musical entertainment on the pianoforte. Not a bout of musical chairs!”

  The room erupted into laughter and one of the gentlemen reluctantly relinquished the struggle and left the piano in the hands of a notably talented player. Soon the soothing notes were filling the room with an exquisite sense of melancholy as the young man played and sang a popular ballad of unrequited love, and the room joined in with the familiar chorus. He had a fine voice and the assembly showed its enthusiasm by calling for more. He bowed to the Duke and happily complied.

  Evidently, the Duke had quickly forgotten about Georgiana’s failure to offer any kind of musical entertainment. Most of the young gentlemen then took turns either at the pianoforte or reciting poetry. Not all of them shared the same level of artistic expression as the first, but the entertainment was pleasing and delightfully distracting.

  It was eventually noticed, however, that the Marquess of Dartworth was less than enthusiastic about offering his talents as an entertainer. The other young nobles, clearly unhappy with his unconventional political views, goaded him and accused him of being tone deaf, and afraid to advertise his lack of ability.

  The Marquess silently rose and took up his place at the piano, the others making snide remarks behind their hands at the poor state of his clothing and boots. Oliver Kentworthy ignored them all. He brushed a curling lock of hair back from his forehead and closed his eyes. The room became quiet with anticipation. He lifted his chin and began to sing in a pure, resonant baritone that sent shivers down Georgiana’ spine. His voice was pure and strong, smooth and sweet like dripping honey and the room was mesmerised by his words.

  He sang a ballad he’d learned in the Colonies, a tale of love and loss about two people whose paths crossed for one night before they were separated forever. He finished the song, his eyes still closed, and only the crackle of the fire broke the silence. Georgiana, entranced, and fascinated by this man, who seemed such a bundle of contradictory skills, ideas and attitudes, discovered, to her amazement, that there was a tear, sneaking its way from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away as the Duke coughed to break the spell.

  “Well, that’s enough of melancholy tales for one evening! Let us have something a little more cheerful to end the day on a happier note.”

  He called the first player to the piano, to lend his gifts once more, and the crowd soon forgot Oliver’s haunting tale of bittersweet sadness as they cheered and chorused a rousing country song that raised their spirits and dispelled the gloom.

  ~~~~~

  As the guests departed to find their bedchambers and sleep off the excess of wine that had sparked such lively discussions over dinner, Cordelia took Georgiana’s hand and suggested that they walk together to Georgiana’s sumptuous quarters.

  “We need to speak, Georgiana, and preferably behind closed doors.”

  The chambermaid had built a merry fire in the grate and the room was lit by slender candles that cast a warm glow over the richly woven Persian rugs.

  The sisters sat comfortably next to the fire and Cordelia began by eagerly describing the young men who’d attended the banquet.

  “If I were not betrothed to the Duke, I am sure I would be spoiled for choice by so many fine and handsome young men! Tell me, Georgie – which one did you like the most? Or are you interested in two or three or more of them?”

  Georgiana paused before speaking.

  “My darling sister, I know how much you enjoy these banquets, which is just as well, because you’ll be entertaining the Duke’s friends and guests whenever the occasion arises. But I have to confess that I found the evening to be a bit of a bore. I really don’t like any of them much – they did nothing to impress me, nothing at all!”

  Cordelia drew in her breath in shock.

  “A bit of a bore? Georgiana! You surely cannot mean that.”

  Her sister nodded her head in assent and wrung her hands in frustration.

  “My only desire is to get back to Casterfield Grange and see that the estate is being properly run,” she replied. “I’m not very fond of these soc
ial affairs and I can’t play an instrument. Cordelia, you know full well that I can barely put one foot in front of another on the dance floor. I’m hopeless on these grand occasions.”

  “But there were so many handsome young men at the table and every one of them would willingly give an arm to claim you as his bride.”

  Georgiana laughed.

  “To claim me, surely, and the lands I hold.”

  There was a note of cynicism in Georgiana’s voice and there was also a hint of desperation. Cordelia frowned, worried.

  “My beloved sister, you know you will have to choose one of them. You must marry. It’s as simple as that. I have been most fortunate in Papa’s choice of a husband. Now you must choose someone for yourself and you will have to make that choice very soon.”

  Georgiana sighed. “I know. I know.”

  But she didn’t sound very convinced. A silence settled between the two young women as they were lost in their private thoughts.

  “Georgiana, let us speak plainly with one another. I know who I would choose if I were in your shoes. Now tell me which of the suitors caught your eye?”

  “Well, to be truthful, as I said before, I found all of them spectacularly boring.”

  Cordelia shook her head in disbelief.

  “Except perhaps for the man who sang the lament so beautifully at the end of the evening.”

  “The ragged man? Oh, Georgiana. Surely not him?”

  “Well, you did ask me, you insisted I give you some kind of answer, and you wanted me to speak plainly. He is the only one who was remotely interesting.”

  “Oliver Kentworthy? The poorest man in the room? The one they refer to as the revolutionary from the Colonies? Please tell me that you’re not serious, Georgiana!”

  “You must admit he’s handsome. And he’s a man of principles. It’s quite clear that he has a caring nature and I find that, well, interesting.” Georgian felt herself blush as she spoke. It occurred to her that she had never said anything so flattering about a man before. But then, she had never actually found any man remotely interesting before.

  Now it was Cordelia’s turn to wring her hands.

  “But he’s a brute! He’s worked with his hands like some common labourer. And his silly ideas betray a complete lack of intelligence. No, my darling sister, you can do so much better than a poorly shod carthorse from the shire. There are thoroughbreds aplenty on hand, men of wealth and means and power.”

  Georgiana lowered her head to avoid looking at her sister, as Cordelia continued to speak.

  “Sleep on it and we will speak on the matter again tomorrow. Perhaps some common sense will find its way into that wayward head of yours!” Despite her concerns, Cordelia smiled at her sister and reached forward to take her hands. “We only want what is best for you, Georgiana.”

  She leaned closer to kiss her sister’s forehead, before rising from her chair and bidding her sister a peaceful and good night’s sleep. She turned to make her way to her own bedchamber, hoping that she had managed to dissuade Georgiana from her first, and obviously disastrous, choice of a potential future husband.

  But as she made her way along the candlelit corridor, she was far from convinced that she had succeeded.

  To her surprise, Georgiana slept deeply in her comfortable four-poster bed and was woken by the chirruping of early morning birdsong and by a smiling chambermaid who curtsied in the doorway and asked permission to make up the fire and bring a basin of hot water. The Duke was hosting a large number of guests and the servants were busy long before the first hint of dawn lit up the sky. Georgiana breathed deeply and smelled a delicious hint of fresh baked bread from the kitchens. She nodded to the maid with a smile and enjoyed the warm cosiness of her comfortable bed for a few minutes more.

  Rising from her woollen blankets, Georgiana washed herself in the privacy of her chambers and thought about the dreams that had come to her during the peaceful hours of the night. She recalled a particularly vivid dream where she was riding a powerful, black stallion with a long, flowing mane, clinging to its back as it vaulted over hedgerows and galloped across the countryside.

  It was so exhilarating, so vivid, the warmth of its sides against her legs as she gripped so tightly to avoid falling.

  ‘I wonder who my black stallion might be in this great household of thoroughbreds!’ she pondered, as she dressed for breakfast. The thought made her smile, yet she was deeply perturbed by the fact that she was expected to pick a husband within the next few weeks and surrender herself to a marriage without even having the chance to get to know her future husband much.

  It was absurd, but Cordelia had hinted that if she did not make her mind up soon, before Cordelia’s wedding, the Duke would take it upon himself to choose someone for her. It was a monstrous proposition and Georgiana felt powerless in the face of such relentless pressure. ‘At least you can sell or exchange a horse. With husbands, it’s an altogether trickier situation!’ She thought as she placed an embroidered and perfumed kerchief in her sleeve and made her way down to the spacious dining room for breakfast.

  Some of the gentlemen guests were still nursing their hangovers after a surfeit of fine wine the evening before. The conversation was calmer and more muted as the servants hurried from place to place with freshly baked rolls and salted butter, damson preserves and honey, cold, cured meats and boiled eggs. Last to arrive at the dining table was Oliver Kentworthy, looking completely fresh and free of any hint of a hangover. He had shaved that morning, and the faint blue hue of his shaved whiskers lent a pleasing contrast to his tanned features. Georgiana smiled as he took his place and he nodded to her in acknowledgement, the smile extending this time from his blue eyes all the way to his mouth.

  Georgiana felt warmed by that smile, as if it had somehow touched her like the sun coming from behind a cloud. Flustered, she forced herself to concentrate on breakfast, unsure, suddenly, of how to go on.

  The coffee was excellent, prepared by a Spanish servant who had learned the art in distant Cuba, and everyone congratulated the Duke on his wonderful hospitality. The Duke smiled at his guests, always pleased to note that his table presented some of the finest dishes in the county, and possibly much further beyond.

  Georgiana asked him how the coffee was prepared, that it became be so wonderfully flavoursome and frothy. It was the first time that she had ever tasted coffee that had been made in this fashion.

  “Hah! It should be a state secret, my girl. Can’t have everyone stealing the secrets of my kitchens, can we?” He laughed and called one of the servants to the table. “Please explain to the Lady how the coffee is prepared, Julio.”

  The man nodded and seemed to enjoy sharing the details of how the finely ground beans were added to boiling water before they were squeezed through layers of the finest muslin, which separated the grounds so that the beverage arrived with a delicious layer of foam atop the cup.

  “In faith, Your Grace, I should dearly love to try my hand at making coffee in such a novel fashion.”

  “Heavens, no, my girl. We can’t have you ruining your pretty hands doing the work of kitchen maids, can we? Whatever would the world be coming to?”

  The Duke looked down the table at Oliver Kentworthy and drew in a quiet breath. He found himself profoundly disturbed by the young Marquess. The man’s father had been a wastrel, that was true, and Oliver was to be respected for surviving regardless, and not following in those disgraceful footsteps. But… to have done manual labour, to have mixed freely with the common men in the fields, even when bearing the role of the manager of an estate – that was a concept he found challenging. How would the world go on, if no-one knew their place in the fabric of society?

  “We need to remember our place in the world and maintain our standards and our dignity, Georgiana. We can’t all abandon our positions and toil as common field hands. That would never do.” Mentally Philip winced, as he heard how harsh his own words sounded. Too late, it was spoken.

  Oliver looked up
from his bone china breakfast plate and moved a sliver of cold beef into his mouth, his eyes on the Duke, coolly appraising the great aristocrat and assessing his quietly spoken comments. The Duke looked away first, too uncomfortable to hold the young Marquess’ piercing gaze. He called for more coffee and some of the sleepier guests began to revive their spirits as the finely ground beans worked their magic and chased away the shadows of the previous evening’s drinking.

  A lively conversation sprang up about who owned the fastest horse for point to point racing, a source of immense pride and competition amongst the local gentry. Oliver’s indifference to the subject marked him, yet again, as an outsider, a man without money or means.

  As someone who simply didn’t belong amongst the privileged young aristocrats who were enjoying the Duke’s lavish hospitality. Yet it was evident that he was completely indifferent to the stares and slights that were occasionally directed at him. He seemed to inhabit his own private world and, as Georgiana watched him from her end of the table, she began to wonder what on earth this exceptionally handsome young man was doing at the Duke’s house in the first place.

  As the servants cleared away the plates from the hearty breakfast, Cordelia took Georgiana’s hand and suggested that they go for a walk in the gardens to get some fresh air. Georgiana’s face lit up at the prospect. It was an uncommonly sunny day and the frost was quickly melting on the new spring grass.

  “Wrap up warmly and we can explore the grounds around the house. I know how much you love the plants and flowers, but you must solemnly promise not to get down on your hands and knees and start weeding, or Philip will have an apoplexy!”

  The sisters laughed at the thought and Georgiana hurried to her chambers to find suitable clothes, and her fur muff to keep her hands warm in the cool, morning air.

  It was such a relief to be out in the fresh air, the pale sunlight warming her face and birds singing in the trees. It reminded her so much of her beloved home and how much she missed being in her own familiar house. The two sisters linked arms and strolled along the perfectly swept pathways that led through the gardens. It was a wonderful interlude, a private moment that allowed the young Ladies to talk without fear of being overheard.