by Kate Pearce
“A clever plan,” Lottie said approvingly. “What Adam doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, and Margaret hasn’t decided what she is going to do yet, anyway.”
“What makes you think I have anything to decide?” Margaret parried. “We were all invited to visit Lord Hellion, not just me.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Margaret, I’m not Adam. I am quite aware of what is going on.” Lottie grinned at her. “You are visiting Lord Hellion’s estate to see if he will suit you.”
“I am not—” Margaret might as well not have bothered as Lottie continued speaking.
“And very wise of you, too. He is quite a catch by anyone’s standards.”
“Lottie, he might have a title, but he has no money.”
“But you will be a marchioness!” Lottie clasped her hands to her bosom. “Lady Hellion.”
Margaret sniffed. “I have never aspired to be a member of the aristocracy, Lottie.”
“Which is why this whole thing is so amusing to watch. You like him despite him representing everything you despise.”
“I don’t despise the aristocracy, I just happen to think that they are rather… useless.”
Lottie’s peal of laughter brought a reluctant smile to Margaret’s face. Each mile they traveled brought her closer to making a decision that would affect the rest of her life, and her bright confidence in her ability to make such a decision was waning. She hardly knew him. He’d pointed out to her that he could abscond with all her money, and there was very little she could do about it once they were married. At least he’d tried to be truthful about that…
Yet there was something in his eyes that drew her to him—a sense that, despite his levity, he was an honest man, a strong man. She’d never met a man she could speak her mind to before, and it was quite exhilarating. And when he touched her, kissed her, she wanted so much more…
“Ah, here we are.” Mrs. Delisle sat up straight and looked out of the window. “The village of Hellsdown, which belongs to the estate.”
After they passed along the main street, the carriage took a sharp turn to the left under a sturdy stone arch, past an octagonal gatehouse, and onto a badly rutted drive lined with elm trees.
As they bumped about, Lottie caught Margaret’s eye. “One can already see why Lord Hellion might be needing your money.”
“I’ll make certain that it is the first thing that is fixed,” Margaret promised, her gaze on the overgrown trees and what passed as a park beyond them. The grounds were sadly overgrown, and didn’t improve as they came closer to the house.
“Goodness gracious!” Lottie squeaked as they finally drew up at the front of the house. “This place is enormous!”
No one emerged from the house, so Margaret opened the carriage door and got out to look up at the imposing stone and crenellated façade of the building. She’d imagined Grafton Hall was large, but this place was easily ten times the size of it. The enormity of her suggestion to marry into such a family hit her anew. What did she know of such a place and such people?
The front door opened a crack, and an elderly man in a faded livery tottered down the steps to greet them.
“Mrs. Delisle?”
“Yes, indeed.” Caroline’s mother inclined her head a friendly inch. “I assume Lord Hellion is expecting us.”
“Yes, ma’am. Please come in.”
Margaret stepped into the large black-and-white tiled hall that rose to the towering height of a cathedral and fought to keep a pleasant smile on her face and not gawp like a country bumpkin.
“I’ll take you through to Miss Lilly and Mrs. Grantham in the small morning room, ma’am. Your bags will be taken up to your rooms.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Delisle said.
Margaret, Mrs. Delisle, and Lottie followed the butler down what appeared to be a mile of corridor lined with faded wainscoting and unidentifiable artwork. There was a pervading scent of damp and lack of use in the air, which made Margaret even more nervous.
The morning room, however, was full of sunlight and furnished in a comfortable, if shabby, way. The young woman who rose to greet them wore black and appeared to be of a similar age to Margaret and Lottie.
“You must be Alistair’s guests. How kind of you to come and visit us.” She smiled uncertainly at Margaret and Lottie, as if wondering why on earth they had decided to visit at all. “I’m Miss Archer, and this is my aunt Maud, Mrs. Grantham. We are both related to the last duke, but on somewhat distant branches of the family tree.”
Miss Archer gestured for them all to join her around the meager fire, which did little to warm even such a moderately small room. Margaret guessed the chimney hadn’t been swept for quite a long while, which would explain the lack of vigor of the flames. She settled on the couch where she could still see the door.
“Williams will bring us some tea, which will sustain us while we wait for Alistair.” Miss Archer smiled. “He has been somewhat busy in the last few weeks as he attempts to deal with the estate.”
“I can imagine.” Mrs. Delisle glanced over at Margaret and Lottie. “We were very sorry to hear of the loss of his grandfather and cousin.”
“Indeed, we expected Great Uncle Norris to die because he had reached a great age and had been unwell for several years, but not his oldest grandson.” Miss Archer sighed. “Poor Alistair has been left with a houseful of dependents, an estate that has been allowed to slide into disrepair, and a title that he never wanted.”
As if summoned by his cousin’s words, the door opened, and the butler came in with the tea tray, followed by the unmistakable figure of Margaret’s potential husband.
“His Grace, the Duke of Thorsway,” the butler intoned.
Margaret slowly came to her feet as he approached, her gaze taking in his brown coat, buff colored breeches, and gleaming top boots. His blond hair needed cutting and his cravat was a crumpled, knotted mess. Her fingers itched to remove it from his neck and offer him a freshly ironed one.
“Mrs. Delisle, Miss Blackthorn, Miss Lottie.” He executed a perfect bow. “How kind of you to visit me.”
He kissed Mrs. Delisle’s gloved hand, winked at Lottie, and came over to Margaret, his blue eyes dancing with that subtle amusement she was never sure was aimed at her.
“Miss Blackthorn, a pleasure indeed.”
“You are a duke now?” Margaret blurted out.
“For my sins, yes. I inherited the title from my grandfather after my cousin’s demise.” His mouth twisted. “A duke of debt and ruin as you can probably already tell.” Keeping hold of her hand, he turned to Miss Archer. “I’ll take the ladies on a tour after they’ve had some tea, Lilly.”
“If you really wish to, Alistair, although there is not much to see.” Miss Archer sat down and started pouring the tea, her smile disappearing. “The state rooms are all shut up, and the rest of the house is in much need of repair.”
“I still wish Miss Blackthorn to see everything,” Lord Hellion replied. “She is very interested in such things.”
“Indeed she is,” Lottie agreed. “There is nothing my sister likes more than a stimulating project.”
“Then perhaps she can advise you, Alistair.” Miss Archer’s smile had completely disappeared. “Lord knows, we need all the assistance we can get.”
“Then I will stay here with Miss Archer and Mrs. Delisle while you go and explore with the duke, Margaret,” Lottie said with a wicked smile. “I’m sure you will have plenty of advice for his grace.”
And just like that, Margaret found herself walking alone with the new duke of Thorsway along the dank corridors of his newly acquired mansion. He opened random doors as they progressed, commenting on what he thought the room’s purpose was. It was difficult to see much with the shutters up and the majority of the furniture in holland covers.
“I didn’t grow up here, so I’m not that familiar with the place,” he confessed as they reached yet another stairway. “My father didn’t get along with his brother or his father, so we rarely vis
ited.”
“Has it always been like this?” Margaret asked as she turned a slow circle.
“No, when I was a child it was perfectly kept. After my grandmother died, and grandfather became ill, things changed for the worse.” He hesitated. “Recently, my cousin brought a rather unscrupulous land agent in to wring as much money out of the estate and farms as possible. Those desperate endeavors have weakened the entire estate, left the tenants unhappy, and half the farms empty.”
Margaret walked over to the window and rubbed a small hole in the grime on the glass. In truth, the whole place gave her the horrors. She tried to imagine how it once might have looked and found it impossible. The new duke was watching her intently now, one shoulder propped up against the window frame and a hand thrust into the pocket of his breeches.
“It’s appalling, isn’t it? This is exactly why I suggested you visit before committing yourself to any foolishness.”
His tone was light, but she could sense the bleakness beneath it. The house was so quiet she could hear mice scratching behind the skirting boards and paneling. To set this place to rights… to make it into a showplace would take a lifetime.
She let out a long, slow breath that seemed to take forever.
“It would certainly be an interesting challenge.” She walked toward him.
He regarded her warily. “How interesting?”
“Interesting enough to marry you for,” Margaret said.
He reached out and caught her chin in his hard fingers. “Perhaps you should reserve judgment until you have spent a whole day here.”
“I doubt it will get any better, and it will probably get worse.” She paused. “Are you sure that you don’t want to accept my offer now?”
He leaned in very slowly and kissed her on the lips. “No, I believe you should be given every opportunity to run away as fast as your legs will carry you.”
“I’m not a coward,” Margaret insisted.
“But you are a reckless fool to want this.” He kissed her again, his tongue seeking admittance to clash with hers until she was leaning fully against him, one hand anchored on his shoulder as he ravaged her mouth.
He was the first to draw back and scowl at her. “Stop being so damned enticing.”
“I am hardly that.” Margaret sounded breathless even to herself. She wanted to press against the hard planes of his body, to slide her fingers beneath the badly starched collar of his shirt, and rip it off…
She took an unsteady step back. “Mrs. Delisle will be wondering where we are.”
“I doubt it.” He offered her his arm. “But I sense that you have had enough of me and wish to return to your family.”
“I am merely tired after the carriage ride and would welcome a moment to set myself to rights,” Margaret countered. In truth, she needed to gather her resources against him, but she had no intention of telling him that.
“You look perfectly beautiful to me.”
“Beautiful?” Margaret sniffed. “I suspect you are referring to my sister. She is the acknowledged beauty in the family.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, his gaze traveling up her body until he finally met her eyes. “Perhaps you are not beautiful in the current way society demands, Miss Blackthorn, but you are a strong, handsome woman. The kind of woman who doesn’t break easily—the kind who would dare to marry a man desperately trying to survive.”
For some reason, his words made her want to cry. Before she could embarrass herself further, he dropped a kiss on her nose, and offered her his hand again.
“Shall we go? Your tea will be cold, but I’ll order up another pot. We can, at least, afford that.”
Alistair spent an inordinate amount of time simply watching Margaret Blackthorn navigate her way around his family and his estate. She answered all the questions about her brother and Millcastle with a refreshing honesty that still surprised him. She wasn’t ashamed of her family tree and obviously didn’t care about the supposed nobility of his. But why would she, when her brother had succeeded from nothing, and Alistair had inherited a rotten branch of an aristocratic family who had singlehandedly destroyed their worth and wealth in less than two generations?
After a dinner, which had barely been edible, he slipped away to his grandfather’s study to smoke a cigarillo and plan what to do with Miss Blackthorn for the remainder of her stay. He intended to show her the worst of the place, so that she could never say he’d tried to bamboozle her into marriage.
He blew out a ring of smoke. But why was he so determined to put her off when he already liked her and definitely lusted after her? Just for once, couldn’t he forget his damned stupid scruples and take advantage of the situation?
“Alistair?”
He spun around to find that Lilly had come into the room and was hovering nervously by the door.
“What is it?”
“May I ask why you invited the Miss Blackthorns and Mrs. Delisle to visit us?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“That Miss Margaret has aspirations to your title, yes, but—”
“She isn’t like that,” Alistair said abruptly. “The only one aspiring to anything here is me.”
“You… care for her?” Lilly whispered.
“I think it’s too soon to be talking in such terms, but I certainly admire and respect her.”
Lilly gripped her hands together and came farther into the room. “But what about me?”
“I don’t understand,” Alistair said slowly, although he had a horrible idea where the conversation was heading.
“Everyone is expecting you to marry me.”
Alistair stubbed out his cigarillo and prepared to hurt yet another person in his life who didn’t deserve it. “I’ve always liked you, Lilly, but I think of you as a sister.”
“And yet you feel it is better to marry someone you hardly know and ‘respect’ than a woman who has always been your friend?”
“It’s not that simple, and you know it.” Alistair held her gaze. “If I am to keep this place going, I need money. The estate on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“And Miss Blackthorn is wealthy.”
“She is.”
“And she is from a family who a generation ago worked in a mill.”
“Yes.”
“She is not like us, Alistair. She will not know how things are done here. She will—”
He held up his hand. “If she decides to marry me, her wealth will save the estate.”
Lilly gathered herself up and, for the first time in his life, glared at him. “I never thought of you as mercenary before, Alistair.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps I learned a lesson or two about being too nice last time I inherited nothing.”
She shook her head. “If you go through with this foolish scheme, neither of you will be happy. Miss Blackthorn will be out of her natural position in society, you will be dragged down to her level, and—”
“And what, Lilly? I’ll save the estate? Do you even begrudge me that opportunity?”
She spun around and walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her. Alistair slowly exhaled, more shaken by the encounter than he had expected. If Lilly, who had always been his only ally in the family, refused to accept his union with Margaret, then he was in for a great deal of trouble.
But if he didn’t marry soon and well, the rest of his family would be losing their home anyway, because he wouldn’t be able to support the estate, and it would have to be sold off. He doubted they would believe that his choice was so stark. He suspected that many of them would rather endure penury than lower themselves to marry for money.
He wasn’t like that. He’d barely survived the gradual stripping away of his inheritance and responsibilities by his father at the behest of his stepmother. He wasn’t prepared to have a title and empty coffers again. Part of him relished the thought of his stepmother finding out what he’d done. She
hadn’t bothered to write to him about his accession to the dukedom, presumably because she knew the state of his inheritance and was reveling in the thought of his further discomfort.
If he married Margaret, he’d make damn sure not to invite his stepmother to the wedding… He’d even be in a position to offer his sister a home if she was willing, and his stepmother hadn’t turned her completely against him.
Alistair rose to his feet and made sure that the fire was out before he left the room. He wanted to marry Margaret. He’d show her the worst of the estate over the next day, and, if she was still willing, he would ignore the inevitable outcry and make her his wife.
“Do you think you’ll marry your duke?” Lottie asked as she tucked herself in beside Margaret in their draughty bedroom.
“I’m still not sure.” Margaret grimaced as she pulled the damp covers up to her chin. “He seems to be doing everything in his power to persuade me otherwise.”
“Which, knowing you, is very clever of him, indeed,” Lottie agreed. “I quite like him.”
“He certainly is attempting to be honest with me, and this place…” Margaret’s gaze drifted around the faded curtains, smoking chimney, and the frayed silk wall hangings. “It is far worse than I envisaged.”
“Well, you weren’t expecting to become a duchess, either,” Lottie reminded her. “Adam will be beside himself.”
“He won’t care in the slightest, as long as I am happy,” Margaret defended her brother. “The only thing he will object to is the idea of his money pouring into what he would consider a lost cause.”
“This place could be beautiful,” Lottie said wistfully. “Lilly was telling me how it was when she was a little girl. It was quite hard to imagine.”
“Lilly doesn’t like me.”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Lottie nudged her. “She believes she’s in line to be the next duchess.”
Margaret sat bolt upright. “She told you that?”
“Not in so many words, you know how these aristocratic ladies can be, but the general tone of her conversation was all about what ‘she and Alistair’ hoped to accomplish with the estate.”
