A Suitable Match: Historical Romance (The Marstone Series Book 2)

by Jayne Davis

  “Your place in Devonshire is on the coast, I understand.”

  “Yes. But we didn’t… I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

  “Your sister,” Nick stated. “What does Marstone have planned for her?”

  “I don’t know—but he won’t have any concern for her feelings in the matter, only his own advantage. I was only sent word that Bella and my Aunt Aurelia—Lady Cerney—are to come to Town, and my father is possibly to follow. They should be here within a day or so.”

  “Would Lady Isabella know what he’s arranged?”

  “I doubt it. I’ll try to speak to her if she has arrived in Town by the time I return from Devonshire, but it’s likely Talbot will rush me off to Paris. For now, I’m going home to see Connie before this damned mission. I need someone to ensure Bella isn’t married off against her will.”

  “Couldn’t Lady Wingrave come to London?” Anything to avoid Nick having responsibility for a girl only just out of the schoolroom. “Or your other sisters?”

  “Connie’s increasing. The twins… Even if they were in Town, they’re not old enough, or forceful enough, to thwart our father.”

  “What about your friend Tregarth?”

  “Travelling in Italy with his new wife.”

  Damn.

  “His mama might be of assistance,” Wingrave added. “Lady Tregarth was very helpful when I was preventing the twins being married off.”

  “There you are then,” Nick said, relieved to have found someone else to take on the task.

  “No. Even if she is in Town, it is unfair to ask her to take on sole responsibility.”

  “Can’t you have a word with Lady Cerney?” The faint hope was rapidly dashed as Wingrave shook his head.

  “She’ll have been bribed or threatened to do as my father directs. No, Carterton, it has to be you, or I don’t go.”

  Nick thought of pointing out Wingrave’s patriotic duty, but that argument could be turned on him as well. And if Wingrave did cry off, Talbot might decide that Nick should go instead.

  “Oh, very well.”

  “That’s what I like,” Wingrave muttered. “An enthusiastic collaborator.”

  “Ha.”

  “I’ll send my man Archer to see you,” Wingrave went on. “He has my complete trust, and knows some of Marstone’s staff.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll bid you good day, then.” They shook hands before Hobson showed Wingrave out.

  It was flattering, he supposed, that Wingrave trusted him to do his best for Lady Isabella. In truth, it would be interesting to see what she looked like in daylight. He could only hope she no longer dragged strangers into darkened rooms.

  And with any luck, Wingrave should only be away for a few weeks. What could happen in that time?

  Chapter 3

  Rotherhithe, London

  “Luis da Gama?”

  Luis de Garcia watched a dead dog turning gently as it floated in the filthy waters of the Thames, its stiff legs jutting upwards.

  “Senhor?” The voice was impatient now, and Luis turned to see a stocky man dressed in a long bottle-green coat, his hair neatly powdered and covered in a black bicorne.

  “Yes?”

  “I am Mendes. I have been sent to escort Senhor Luis Sousa da Gama. Are you he?”

  “Yes.” He must remember to answer to his new name. “My luggage.” He pointed towards a single trunk near the end of the gangway. He was supposedly visiting friends, not about to enter the London season, so he hadn’t brought much with him. As his trunk was hauled up to the roof of a waiting coach, Luis cast a last look at the Nossa Senhora da Glória. It was a lovely name for a dilapidated and dirty vessel, and he was glad to see the last of it.

  “It will take an hour or more,” Mendes said as they approached the coach. “There is much traffic.”

  Luis could see that—all manner of carts and drays crowded the road, men with hand barrows weaving their way between them. The vehicle lurched into motion and the masts and yards of the moored ships became hidden by buildings. He’d expected to arrive in more civilised surroundings, as befitted his rightful status, not to be treated little better than a piece of cargo.

  The warehouses and small streets gave way to wider thoroughfares and more ostentatious buildings, and the carriage eventually drew to a halt outside one of a row of tall houses in white stone.

  Mendes ascended the steps and opened the front door without knocking. A woman in a mob cap and dark blue dress awaited them in the tiled hallway, and curtsied as Luis entered.

  “Senhor da Gama, your rooms are on this floor,” Mendes said. “Mrs Hathersage will clean and provide basic meals, should you wish to eat here.”

  Mendes gazed at Luis, as if waiting for a response. Luis nodded.

  “This way, if you please.” Mendes ushered him into a parlour, furnished with a table near the window and several armchairs arranged around the fireplace. Bedposts and hangings were visible through a door at the far end of the room. The place was not what he was accustomed to at home.

  “I will act as your valet,” Mendes said, carrying the small trunk through into the bedroom. “This afternoon I will take you to have new clothing made. Be ready at two o’clock.”

  Luis grunted an acknowledgement, and Mendes left without unpacking his trunk for him. Luis scowled at the thought of taking orders from a servant, especially one who had the insolence to leave without a suitable bow.

  “Brandy, Mrs Hathersage,” he called, pleased to hear her polite acknowledgement. She, at least, knew her place.

  It would have to do, he told himself. This trip was a means to an end—once he had his reward there would be no more insolence from his inferiors.

  Bella watched the gateposts of Marstone Park vanish as the coach rounded a corner and then sat back against the squabs in satisfaction. Excitement, even. An introduction into society under the tutelage of Aunt Aurelia was not ideal, but it was vastly better than continuing her exile at Marstone Park. It was even better that Papa was not coming with them, and Molly and Langton were—she would need allies.

  The set look to her aunt’s mouth hinted that her meeting with Papa this morning had been no less acrimonious than the one Bella had overheard last night.

  “It’s very good of you to escort me to London, Aunt Aurelia,” she ventured.

  “Oh, no. Not good of me at all. Marstone’s paying me.”

  Bella met her aunt’s eyes, her jaw dropping. She hadn’t expected such frankness.

  “Surprise you, does it, that your father should do such a thing?”

  “No, it is what he did last year for Theresa and Lizzie. I was surprised that you told me.”

  “Yes, well, it’s best to know where we stand. I’m being paid to ensure you make a good alliance, and I’ll not put up with disobedience or lack of co-operation from you.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  “I hope you’ve no silly notions about making a love match.”

  “No, Aunt.” A lie—probably the first of many.

  “Come, girl, no need for such a glum face. You’ll be better off wed than living with your father.”

  That depended on who she married. She could not count on being as lucky as her sisters. “Has my father chosen a husband for me?”

  “He’s trying to.” Aunt Aurelia smiled—a small smile, but it was there. “I suspect that even the Marstone status and wealth is not enough, in some quarters, to make up for having my brother as a connection.”

  Bella let out a snort of laughter.

  “Don’t do that, girl. It’s most unbecoming.” The words were without heat, and for the first time Bella wondered what it had been like for her aunt, growing up with the earl as an older brother. Had he been just as dictatorial then?

  “I’m sorry, Aunt.”

  “Understand me, Isabella; my aim is to get you a suitable husband. You will behave properly at all times, or I’ll wash my hands of you. Then Marstone is likely to marry you off to the fir
st man he can find.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” She must remember that Aunt Aurelia was not an ally, despite their mutual detestation of the earl. “Will Papa be coming to Town?”

  Aunt Aurelia’s lips thinned. “At some point, yes. He worked himself into such a rage this morning that it made him ill.”

  It must be wrong, mustn’t it, to be glad that her father was unwell?

  “With any luck, it will be some time before he’s fit to travel,” her aunt went on. “The last thing I need is his interference in every decision. That’s why I refused to have that pinch-faced governess of yours along.” She examined Bella, her gaze travelling from her hair to her feet and back again. “Hmm. The first thing we must do is get you some decent clothing. Something that fits, and shows off your assets better than that gown.”

  Bella resisted the impulse to cross her hands over her chest.

  “We will call on my mantua-maker first thing tomorrow morning. She should be able to find something you can wear to make morning calls, until the ones we order are ready. Perhaps a dinner or two, to introduce you to some useful people, but that could be difficult with no host.”

  “Will Lord Cerney be in Town?”

  “No, he prefers to stay on his estates.” Aunt Aurelia’s pursed lips said she was not happy with this state of affairs.

  “Will I have a ball? Aunt Honora organised one for Theresa and Lizzie.”

  “Honora had plenty of warning,” Aunt Aurelia said. “Marstone’s in a hurry—that is, no, not if I can avoid it. Besides, you told me you do not dance.”

  “I can learn,” Bella said hopefully.

  “Yes, and you will. But you’d be the centre of attention opening a ball. The whole thing is too much trouble, and too late in the season. People will already have engagements. There’s nothing worse than empty space in a ballroom.”

  Bella sighed, although she didn’t really mind. Molly had smuggled in a letter after her sisters’ debut ball; Theresa had written about hundreds of people they’d never met before, too many names to remember, and their father’s approved suitors mostly full of their own importance. It hadn’t sounded enjoyable at all.

  Bella watched the passing countryside as Aunt Aurelia opened a bag on the seat beside her and pulled out a notebook and pencil. “Lady Durridge,” she murmured, scribbling. “Lady Yelland, Mrs Roper…”

  She had been in London only once before, two years ago now, and then she had been confined to Marstone House. If nothing else, she would see more of the city.

  Nick put his pen down as the butler knocked and entered the room.

  “A Mr Archer to see you, sir. He said he is expected.”

  Nick carefully laid a ruler across the transcript to keep his place. Archer was a man of his own age, soberly dressed in a brown suit. Like Nick, he wore his own hair tied back. Nick had expected someone like a steward when Wingrave mentioned sending ‘his man’, but Archer’s way of holding himself, and his weathered complexion, didn’t suggest a man who spent his life with his nose in account books.

  Archer took a letter from his pocket. “Lord Wingrave sent this, sir.”

  Nick broke the seal. Wingrave had sent a note to Lady Tregarth explaining the situation, Archer would be delivering a similar letter to Lady Isabella, and he should ask Archer for any help he required.

  “Why does Wingrave send you with Lady Isabella’s letter, instead of a footman?”

  “Lord Marstone doesn’t allow Lady Isabella to communicate with the rest of her family at all, sir. The servants are all instructed to enforce that, on pain of dismissal without a character.”

  Nick knew Marstone was a tyrant, but to forbid all contact seemed harsh indeed. “How do you propose to deliver the letter, then?”

  Archer regarded him without speaking, his expression blank. If Nick had not had Wingrave’s recommendation, the dull servant act would have been convincing.

  “Archer, do you think Lord Wingrave would have delegated the care of his sister to someone he didn’t trust?”

  “No, sir.” Archer smiled, and Nick got the impression that a new alliance had formed. “A few of the staff will smuggle letters to her—Molly Simons, her ladyship’s maid, and Langton, one of the footmen. Lady Isabella arrived this afternoon, with her aunt. I should be able to get the letter to her by tomorrow, at the latest.”

  “The maid and footman are taking a great risk, are they not?”

  “Yes, sir, but Lord Wingrave will ensure that no-one will suffer for helping his sister. Most of the staff, though, will report any attempts at communication.”

  “I see.”

  What, exactly, was Wingrave expecting him to do? More, he suspected, than merely wait for a call for help. Marstone probably wouldn’t inform his daughter of a match until it was too late to do anything about it—not without causing scandal.

  He would have to see her himself. Not only that, but he would need to keep an eye on her admirers and find out about them. Ask her opinion of them, too. Wingrave hadn’t asked him to prevent her marrying, only to prevent her being married against her wishes. The prospect of being able to devote time to his analytical work was diminishing by the day.

  “Archer, can you find out Lady Isabella’s engagements?” Morning calls were tedious, and he would know few of the women that Lady Cerney was likely to visit, but he could ask Lady Tregarth to accompany him.

  “I’ll do my best, sir. I’m staying at the Dog and Partridge, on Davies Street, if you need to contact me. A note left behind the bar will reach me, or they may know where I am if the matter is urgent.”

  Nick raised his brows.

  “It’s best to be prepared, sir.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  “If that is all, sir?”

  “Yes, for now. Thank you, Archer.”

  The door closed behind his visitor and Nick returned his attention to the Greek transcript. Comparison with Euripides’ other works had persuaded him that this was no lost text but a clever forgery. All that remained was to note his reasoning. Then he could look at Jarndyce’s new information about the workhouses near St Giles. All this to do, as well as looking out for Wingrave’s sister.

  With a sigh, he mended his pen and drew a sheet of writing paper towards him.

  Luis surveyed himself in the mirror, and smiled in the way that was so successful with women. The powdered wig and snowy neckcloth framed his face nicely. His top boots shone, his buckskin breeches clung smoothly to his thighs, and the embroidery on the silk waistcoat set off the dark green of his coat. This was his favourite suit, but the ones they had ordered this afternoon should make him look just as good, and would be the latest in English fashion, too.

  “Some of the garments I ordered will arrive tomorrow or the next day,” Mendes said, brushing traces of powder from Luis’s shoulders. “But this will be sufficient for your immediate use. Don Felipe will see you in half an hour.”

  Luis remembered seeing his mother’s cousin a couple of times in his childhood, but had forgotten about him until he began to receive letters from him last December.

  “Did you hear me?” Mendes asked, his impatience verging on insolence.

  Luis bit his lip—he’d already lost one argument with the man, when he’d told him to use more deference in his address. Mendes had merely stated that he was masquerading as a valet, and he would not behave like a servant unless in company.

  “I heard. Where?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Luis had been surprised to find he was the only resident of the house, apart from Mrs Hathersage and several maids. Many of the rooms above stairs were locked—the ones that were open had furniture shrouded in white sheets, save for the back parlour to which he had been summoned. Don Felipe sat in a high-backed chair, looking much older than Luis remembered—thinner and with more lines around his eyes.

  “I am pleased to meet you again, Don Felipe.”

  Luis’ smile was not returned. “You will refer to me, if you must do so at all, as Senhor
da Garcia. We are Portuguese here, not Spanish, and you must play your part at all times.”

  “Very well.” He did his best not to snap.

  Don Felipe walked around him, his assessing gaze travelling from Luis’ new wig to his boots. Finally he nodded. “You’ll do. Sit.”

  Trying to control his mounting irritation, Luis took the seat indicated.

  “A horse will be available should you need to ride—Hyde Park is the fashionable place to be seen. One of your first tasks will be to familiarise yourself with the area.”

  Luis nodded without speaking.

  Don Felipe looked down his nose. “You will not endear yourself to English society with such a churlish response. You are posing as a gentleman—”

  “I am a gentleman. Or I will be, when you—”

  “When you have accomplished your mission, yes.” Don Felipe’s voice remained cold. “As your manners will not miraculously improve when you are given your rightful place, it would be wise to start now, by treating me with due respect. We have not invested so much in you that we cannot send you back if we choose.”

  Luis opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. If he was to achieve his goal, he would have to endure men like Don Felipe. It would not do to antagonise the man now.

  “Good. I should not need to remind you that your success relies on you being accepted into society here, particularly by certain women.”

  Luis knew that already.

  “My associate will point out the women you are to… befriend, to the extent that you are admitted to their homes. We may require you to obtain, or read, various documents, or it may be necessary for you to invite confidences from your targets.”

  “Invite…?” He was to ask them to disclose secrets? Voices in the hallway stopped him questioning Don Felipe further, and Mrs Hathersage opened the door.

  “Lady Brigham, Senhor.”

  The two men rose and bowed as Lady Brigham entered. She was expensively gowned in rich brocade, but lines around her eyes and mouth revealed her advancing years.

  Lady Brigham said nothing, but inspected Luis much as Don Felipe had earlier. Luis did his best not to squirm or scowl under her scrutiny.