First Comes Marriage hq-1

by Mary Balogh

  Easter will - " "He is seventeen," Margaret said. "It is quite out of the question that he go with you alone. And /tomorrow/? It is impossible. There will be all sorts of preparations to make. The /ton /can wait to make his acquaintance." "I am well aware, ma'am - " the viscount began. "Oh, I think you are /not,/" Margaret told him while Vanessa and Katherine gazed from one to the other in silent fascination and Stephen lowered himself to his chair again, looking as if he might be on the verge of collapse. "My brother has never been more than a few miles from home, and yet you expect him to leave alone with you, a perfect stranger, tomorrow in order to live in a new home among people he has never met and enter upon a life that is totally unexpected and totally foreign to him?" "Meg - " Stephen's cheeks were suddenly flushed. "When my father lay on his deathbed eight years ago," Margaret said, holding up a staying hand but not removing her eyes from the viscount, "I made him a solemn promise that I would see all my siblings to adulthood and care for them until they were all old enough and able to care for themselves. I have always held that promise sacred. Stephen is going nowhere tomorrow and nowhere the next day or the day after that.

  Not alone anyway." Viscount Lyngate raised his eyebrows and looked very haughty indeed. "I do assure you, ma'am," he said, impatience obvious in every line of his body, "that your brother will be very well cared for indeed under my guardianship. He is one of the wealthiest men in the land, and it is imperative - " "Under your /guardianship/?" Margaret said. "I beg your pardon, my lord.

  Stephen is under /my /care even if it turns out that he is as rich as Croesus and the King of England." "Meg," Stephen said, and pushed the fingers of one hand through his curls, which immediately restored themselves to their usual disorder. He looked horribly embarrassed. "I am seventeen, not seven. And I am the Earl of Merton unless this is some bizarre hoax. I had better go and find out what it is all about and learn how to do the job properly. It would be lowering to meet my peers and not have any idea how to go on.

  You have to agree with that."

  He looked at them all in turn. "Stephen - " Margaret began.

  But he raised a hand palm out and addressed the viscount. "The thing is," he said, "that we are a close-knit family, as you can see for yourself. I owe a great deal to /all /my sisters, but especially to Meg. Of course they must come with me if I go - which I daresay I will.

  They must come because I insist upon it. I will not go without them, in fact. What would I do rattling around in a large ancestral home on my own, anyway? I take it Warren Hall /is /large?" The viscount inclined his head while Meg gazed at Stephen in some astonishment. "And what sort of a wealthy, influential earl would I be," Stephen continued, "if I left my sisters behind in a cottage like this when they have been prepared to sacrifice almost their last penny to send me to university later this year when I am eighteen? No, Lord Lyngate, Meg and Kate will go with me. And Nessie too if she wishes or can be persuaded.

  I daresay she would not enjoy being left at Rundle Park if we were all gone." They might all go without her? Vanessa thought, appalled. She might lose her whole family at once? /Of course /she would go with them. "You must admit, Elliott," Mr. Bowen said, "that it is a sensible suggestion. The boy has his mind made up, and he will have a steady home life if his sisters are with him. He is going to need it. And they are now the sisters of an earl. It would be more fitting for them to live at Warren Hall than here." Viscount Lyngate looked about the room with raised eyebrows and at each of them in turn. "In time, yes," he said. "But preferably not yet. They would /all /need to be educated and clothed and a thousand and one other things. They would all have to be presented at court and then to the /ton/. The task would be monumental." Vanessa drew a slow breath. If he had redeemed himself in her eyes just a fraction of a degree last evening while they danced, he had just plummeted to the depths again. He saw them - all of them, even Meg - as a /monumental /liability. A nuisance. Nobodies. Country bumpkins. She drew breath to speak.

  But Stephen seemed not to have seen or heard anything amiss - or anything at all that the viscount had said. He had asserted himself, tested the wings of early manhood in light of the almost incredible announcement that had just been made to him. But he was still very much an exuberant boy too. "I say." He got to his feet again and beamed around on them all. "We are going to Warren Hall, Meg. You will have a come-out Season in London among the /ton, /Kate. And you will be back living with us, Nessie. Oh, this is famous!" He rubbed his hands together and then reached out to hug Katherine.

  Vanessa could not spoil the moment for him. But when she glanced at Viscount Lyngate, not even trying to hide her annoyance, she found that he was looking back at her, his eyebrows raised.

  She pressed her lips tightly together.

  But then she /did /smile and even laugh as Stephen pulled her up from her chair, lifted her off her feet, and twirled her once about. "This is /famous/!" he exclaimed again. "Indeed it is," she agreed fondly. "We had better go over to Rundle Park," he said, "to tell Sir Humphrey and Lady Dew. And to the vicarage to tell the vicar. And to - Oh, Lord." He sat down abruptly and turned pale again. "Oh, Lord." Viscount Lyngate got to his feet. "We will leave you all to digest the news," he said. "But we will return this afternoon to discuss some of the details. There is no time to delay." Margaret had risen too. "We will /not /delay, my lord," she said firmly. "But you must not expect us to be ready to leave tomorrow or the next day or even the next. We will leave as soon as we are ready. We have lived here in Throckbridge all our lives. We have roots here as deep as those /you /probably have in /your /home. You must give us time to pull them free." "Ma'am." The viscount bowed to her.

  He had come here, Vanessa realized, expecting to use his power and consequence to strike awe into them so that he could bear Stephen off to his new life /tomorrow/. Without his sisters.

  How foolish men were.

  She smiled at Viscount Lyngate when he bowed to her. Country bumpkins, he would discover, were not necessarily as easy to handle as the minions he must be more accustomed to encounter and dominate.

  But Stephen, she thought as the gentlemen stepped out of the room and then out of the house. Stephen was an earl. /The Earl of Merton./ "The Earl of Merton," he said, echoing her thought. "Pinch me, someone." "Only if you will pinch me first," Katherine told him. "Oh, goodness me," Margaret said, still on her feet and looking anxiously about the room. "Wherever am I to /start/?" "At the beginning?" Vanessa suggested. "If I only knew where that /was,/" Meg said, her voice close to a wail.

  And then Stephen spoke up again, his color returned, his eyes burning with intensity. "I say!" he said. "Do you realize what this /means/? It means that I don't have to wait until after university and probably years after /that /before I can do everything I have dreamed of doing in life. I do not have to wait to support you all. I don't have to wait even a single minute longer. I am the Earl of Merton. I own property. I am a wealthy man. And I am going to give you all a grand new home and an even grander new life. And as for myself… Well." Clearly he was lost for words. "Oh, Stephen," Katherine said fondly.

  Vanessa bit her upper lip.

  Margaret burst into tears.

  5

  IT TOOK /six days/.

  Six days of kicking their heels at a modest village inn. Six days of amusing themselves as best they could in a remote country village during February, when the sun did not once shine but a chilly rain drizzled down on their heads almost every time they decided to set foot out of doors. Six days of being wined and dined and called upon at all hours of the day by a persistently cheerful and hospitable Sir Humphrey Dew. Six days of observing the reactions of a sleepy English village to the astonishing news that one of their own had just inherited an earl's title and property and fortune.

  Six days of fuming with impatience to be gone - or of /sulking /with impatience if one listened to George Bowen, who was perhaps the most insubordinate secretary any man had ever employed.

  Six days of longing for Anna with a gnawin
g ache of unfulfilled lust.

  It felt more like six weeks.

  Or months.

  They called a couple of times at the cottage, but each time they found everyone so busy getting ready to leave that Elliott hated to slow them down. Young Merton called upon them once at the inn to assure them that they would all be ready in no time at all.

  Six days was /no time at all/?

  He saw more of Mrs. Dew than of the others. But of course she lived at Rundle Park rather than at the cottage with her own family.

  It did not take him long to discover that she was going to be a thorn in his flesh. He had guessed it on the morning of his first visit to the cottage, of course, when she had clearly taken umbrage at his objection to the three sisters accompanying young Merton to Warren Hall without giving him a chance to settle in first and learn a few things about his new life. She had not actually said anything on that occasion, but she had /looked /plenty. Perhaps she thought that marriage to the younger son of a country baronet had equipped her adequately to take on the /ton/.

  She was not so silent when he ran into her three days later.

  He and George were riding to Rundle Park in response to one of the wining and dining invitations and came upon her walking homeward, presumably from the cottage. Elliott dismounted, directed George to ride ahead and take his horse with him, and then wondered if either he or Mrs. Dew appreciated his impulsive gallantry. They walked for several minutes without saying anything of greater significance than that the weather remained stubbornly chilly, a fact that was made worse by the total lack of sunshine and the abundance of wind, which always seemed to blow in one's face no matter which direction one took. She buried her hands in her muff, and he wondered if they would now move on to predicting what sort of summer they were likely to have - or whether they would have one at all.

  It was the sort of conversation that was enough to set his teeth on edge.

  The chill air had whipped some color into her cheeks - and nose. As a result she looked quite whole-some in a countrified sort of way, he conceded reluctantly, even if she was /not /exactly pretty.

  But she too had tired of the weather as a topic, it seemed. "You must understand," she said, breaking a short silence, "that we are as worried as we are elated." "Worried?" He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "Worried about Stephen," she said. "Why would you worry about your brother?" he asked. "He has just come into an inheritance that brings with it untold wealth as well as position and property and prestige." "/That /is what worries us," she said. "How will he handle it all? He loves life and he loves to be active. He is also attentive to his studies. He has been working conscientiously toward a meaningful future goal, both for his own sake and for Meg's, who has sacrificed so much for him - as she has for all of us. He is young and impressionable. I wonder if it is not the worst possible time for this to happen to him." "You are afraid," he asked, "that all this will go to his head? That he will suddenly neglect his studies and run wild? And become grossly irresponsible? I will make it my mission to see that none of that happens, Mrs. Dew. A good education is essential for any gentleman. It - " "It is not of any of that I am afraid," she said, interrupting him. "His character is good and his upbringing has been sound. A little wildness will not hurt him, I daresay. He has been wild enough even here. It is part of growing up for a man, it seems." "What, then?" He looked at her inquiringly. "I am afraid," she said, "that you will try to make him like yourself and that perhaps you will succeed. He is quite dazzled by you, you know." Well. "I am not a good enough model for him?" he asked, stopping walking abruptly in order to glare directly at her. He was not good enough for her brother, a country lad turned earl? After all he had sacrificed during the past year and was going to sacrifice for the next four? Anger bit into him. "And why not, may I ask?" "Because," she said, not avoiding looking directly back into his eyes though he was frowning and not even trying to hide his annoyance, "you are proud and over-bearing. Because you are impatient with all who are beneath you socially and somewhat contemptuous too. You expect to have your own way in everything and become bad-tempered when you do not - just because of who you are. You frown almost constantly and never smile.

  Perhaps all aristocrats are arrogant and unpleasant. Perhaps it is an inescapable effect of being wealthy and powerful. But I doubt it. It is /you, /though, who are now effectively Stephen's guardian despite what Meg may say. It is you who will try teaching him what it is to be an aristocrat. I do not want him to become like you. I should hate it of all things." /Well!/ This little dab of a country mouse certainly did not mince words. "I beg your pardon," he said, frowning even more ferociously as his mood deteriorated. "It seems to me we met only a few days ago, ma'am. Or have I mistaken? Do we have a longer acquaintance, which I have unfortunately forgotten? Do you, in fact, /know /me?" She did not fight fair. She used the lamest - and perhaps the most effective - tactic of all. She answered a question with one of her own. "And do /you /know /us/?" she asked. "Do you know Meg or Kate or me? Do you know us well enough to judge that we will be an embarrassment to you when we accompany Stephen into his new life?" He leaned slightly toward her, his nostrils flaring. "Have I missed something, ma'am?" he asked her. "Have I ever said - or /judged, /to use your word - that you will be an embarrassment to me or anyone else?" "Of course you have," she said. "If I could remember your exact words, I would quote them to you. But I remember their meaning only too well. We will have to be educated and clothed and presented to the queen and society. It will be a /monumental task/." He glared ferociously at her. Her eyes were wide and bright from the cold or battle and were undoubtedly her finest feature. She should flash them more often - though not at him, it was to be hoped. What a truly dreadful creature she was! "And?" he said. "Are you taking issue with me, ma'am, for speaking the /truth /to you? Do you imagine that you and your sisters are ready to step into polite society and take the /ton /by storm? Do you think you could appear on Bond Street in London in that particular cloak and bonnet and not find yourself being treated as someone's servant? Do you think you are in any way even remotely prepared for life as the sister of an earl?" "I /think,/" she said, "that these matters are not your concern, my lord. /We /are not your concern, even if Stephen is. I believe my sisters and I can be trusted to learn what we must in order to mingle in society and not embarrass Stephen in any way at all. Frankly, I do not care if we embarrass /you/. And /if /we do, I daresay you will take satisfaction from looking along the length of your nose at us and curling your lip and everyone will pity you for having been landed with such a parcel of bumpkins." "And /how /are you to do this mingling with society?" he asked her, lowering his voice considerably and narrowing his eyes. "/Who /is to sponsor you at your court presentation? /Who /is to send you invitations? To whom will /you /send invitations?" That silenced her. "Perhaps, ma'am," he suggested, "we should proceed on our way before the dinner gets cold." She sighed and they walked onward. But she had not given up the fight. "How would /you /like it," she asked him, "if someone arrived on /your /doorstep out of the blue one day and turned your world upside down and inside out." It had happened! "If he presented me with a new and better world," he said, "I would be delighted." "But how would you know," she asked, "that it /was /better?" "I would go and find out," he said. "And in the meantime I would not take out my fears and misgivings on the messenger." "Not even if he made you feel like a worm beneath his boot?" she asked. "I would not presume to judge him until I knew him better," he said. "And so I am chastised," she said. "Let us take /this /path. It will get us to the house and our dinner faster. I have offended you, have I not?

  I am sorry if I have been overhasty in my judgment. It is just that I worry about Stephen. He has always been restless and has wanted something more adventurous of life than he could possibly hope for. Now suddenly he has infinitely more than he ever thought to wish for. But he does not know who he is any longer or what his life is to be or his exact position in his new world. And so he will turn to you as a mentor and
model, especially as he already admires you. I fear for him if you insist that he must become more - " One hand came free of her muff and she made circling motions with it. "Arrogant? Obnoxious?" he suggested.

  She laughed suddenly and unexpectedly, a light, merry sound. "Is that what I called you?" she said. "I daresay you are accustomed to being treated with obsequious deference by your inferiors. I was determined from the start not to stand in awe of you. It seemed so silly to do so." "It must be gratifying for you," he said curtly, "to know that you have succeeded so well." Good lord! That had been pure spite, something he never indulged in. And he still had the irritation of an evening spent as a guest of Sir Humphrey Dew to look forward to. "Being an earl - or a viscount - is serious business, Mrs. Dew," he continued. "It is not all basking in one's consequence and spending one's pots of money and beaming geniality on one's minions and dependents. Or even striking awe into them. One is /responsible /for them." As he had found to his cost during the past year. The very idea that he was settling down and would complete the process this year when he selected a bride and married her could plunge him into the deepest gloom. He /certainly /had not needed the added aggravation of finding himself guardian to a seventeen-year-old - especially when the boy happened to come encumbered with three sisters, none of whom had been farther than ten miles from Throckbridge, Shropshire, their entire lives if his guess was correct. Certainly the boy had not. "And one of those people for whom /you /are responsible is Stephen?" she asked softly. "Precisely," he said. "How did that come about?" she asked him. "The old earl was my uncle," he explained. "My father agreed to be appointed guardian to his nephew, my cousin and your brother's predecessor. But my father died last year, only two years after my uncle." "Ah," she said. "And so you inherited the guardianship as well as everything else?" "Yes," he said. "And then a few months ago my young cousin died and the hunt for your brother began. And /then /it was discovered that he too was a minor. May he live long. There has been enough death in my family to suffice for a long, long time." "If you were a cousin," she began, "why - " "A /maternal /cousin," he explained without waiting for her to finish her question. "My mother and Jonathan's mother were sisters." "/Jonathan. /Poor boy." She sighed. "But now I can see that I have done you something of an injustice, resenting you when all you have been doing is a duty you inherited from your father. How disappointed you must have been to learn that Stephen is so young." It was perhaps an apology of sorts. But he was not appeased. The woman was sharp-tongued and of fensive.