Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

  She took off the children’s coats. ‘Where is Susan, please, Trant?’

  ‘In the small sitting room, with Ellen and Mrs Lindley.’

  Mary smiled, for the small sitting room was the new name she had given to the music room, the next on the list of rooms to be converted to a new, more practical use. Mayhap the servants were becoming amenable to her changes? The room had hardly warranted the title of music room when Mary first saw it. The single musical instrument it contained was a rather sad-looking, dust-covered pianoforte that had now been removed by Shorey and Hooper, to be stored in the drawing room under a dust sheet.

  ‘Please convey my apologies to his lordship and tell him I shall see him in due course,’ she told Trant. ‘In the meantime, I shall be with Mrs Lindley in the small sitting room.’

  It was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her problems.

  Mary entered the old music room to find Mrs Lindley, Ellen and Susan hard at work. The cobwebs had been swept from the ceiling; the curtains had been taken outside and shaken until every speck of dust had been removed; the rugs had been beaten to within an inch of their lives; every surface was now being polished until it gleamed and Ellen was cleaning the windows, humming as she worked.

  Mary felt proud she had injected some vigour and purpose into the servants. Susan took the children up to the old schoolroom that had become their nursery and Mary took over polishing the wall sconces until they gleamed.

  ‘I’m thinking his lordship’ll be right cosy in here, when he can tackle the stairs,’ Mrs Lindley said after several minutes of silence.

  Mary looked round from her precarious perch halfway up a ladder. The cook stood beneath her, gazing up.

  ‘I hope so,’ Mary said.

  Mrs Lindley lumbered over to the window to point out a missed smear to Ellen. ‘What d’you think, Ellen?’

  Ellen finished rubbing the smear away before gazing around the room. Mary could see the satisfaction on her face. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Mrs Lindley. I dare say Mrs Vale had the right of it after all. It will be easier to keep nice now.’

  She beamed across the room at Mary, who smiled back. ‘I’m glad you are both content,’ she said, happy she was again on good terms with the two women. Although that, she realised with a thud of her heart, would make it even more difficult to leave in the morning. She decided not to spoil the moment by telling them of her decision.

  They put the finishing touches to the room, fetching a few specially chosen ornaments and paintings from other rooms to create a cosier ambience. While they worked, Mary listened with half an ear to Mrs Lindley grumbling about the hardship of managing with three less pairs of hands at the Hall since her ladyship had removed to the Dower House, taking her own maid, the housekeeper and the butler with her.

  ‘Where is Lady Rothley now?’

  ‘She went to London in the spring, to chaperon her niece until she gets wed. My, but I wish she hadn’t gone, ma’am, and that’s the truth. The old place ain’t the same now, neglected as it is. Or was...’ she added.

  At her pause, Mary glanced at Mrs Lindley and saw her gaze sweep the room, her expression brightening.

  ‘Mebbe that’s what’s made the difference. Having a mistress again, I mean. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, and no offence meant, but in the short time you’ve been here, it’s breathed the life back into the old place. You and the bairns both, no matter what his lordship might say.’

  ‘Well, I am flattered you should say so, Mrs Lindley, although I think his lordship might very well take exception should he hear you refer to me as mistress of the house,’ Mary said with a laugh, even as a subversive corner of her mind plucked out that idea and, examining it, found it most appealing. Then she remembered that this time tomorrow she would be miles away from the Hall and her spirits tumbled back to earth.

  * * *

  When they had finished in the small sitting room, Mary climbed the stairs to the Blue Room. The more she mulled over her situation the more troubled she became. Discreet questioning of Mrs Lindley had elicited the information that Sir Gerald Quartly was still unmarried, news that filled Mary with horror. Despite Lucas’s assertion that she need not leave, meeting Quartly had forced her hand.

  ‘Trant said you would like to see me?’

  Lucas was sitting at the table, an open ledger in front of him. The sight of him revived her fears about Sir Gerald. What, precisely, was the relationship between Lucas and Quartly? Sick apprehension swarmed up her throat until she feared she might choke. She swallowed several times, thrusting down the sense of dread, desperate to hide her emotions.

  ‘Mary.’ The relief in his voice was unmistakable. He pushed back his chair.

  ‘Do not get up,’ Mary said as she crossed the room to his side.

  Lucas stood anyway. He smiled down at her.

  ‘A gentleman always stands when a lady enters the room,’ he said, his voice warm with suppressed laughter. ‘I remember you once admonished me with the words: “I make no doubt you were raised as a gentleman.” I should like to prove to you that I have not relinquished all my manners, despite my best endeavours to prove otherwise.’

  Mary felt her forehead pucker as she thought over his words. ‘Is that a convoluted attempt at an apology?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Could you not have just said I am sorry?’

  ‘And make life easy for the two of us? Never! I need something—even if it only wordplay—to amuse myself. But I am sorry. I reacted badly.’

  ‘I accept. Was that why you wished to see me or was there something in the ledgers you wanted to discuss?’ She knew she sounded sharp and ungracious, but Mary was in no mood for teasing and fun. Her nerves were taut as a bowstring and she felt she might snap with even the tiniest increase in pressure.

  ‘Mary? What is it?’ Lucas pushed away from his perch against the table and placed his hands on her shoulders. His dark eyes were full of concern as they searched her face. ‘Why are you shaking?’

  Mary pushed at his chest, but he slid his hands down her upper arms and tightened his grip.

  ‘You have nothing to fear, Mary. I am truly sorry about my earlier behaviour. I was unforgivably short with you. It won’t happen again.’

  Mary shook her head, her eyes riveted to his chest. He tucked his fingers under her chin and raised it. Not for the life of her could she meet his gaze. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her again. She should have stayed away from him, until she was more settled about Quartly.

  ‘Mary?’

  His gentle enquiry prompted the sting of tears and she blinked them away rapidly.

  ‘Are the children the reason you are returning to your father?’ Lucas asked. At Mary’s mute nod, he said, ‘Why did you not just say so? I am not an ogre. I would not have sent you away had I known about the children. You do know that, don’t you?’

  The fear and tension created by her meeting with Quartly boiled over.

  ‘No,’ she spat. ‘As a matter of fact, I did not know. How should I know? You never reveal anything about yourself, about your past. All I know is what others—yes, and you, yourself—have told me. Children are banned from Rothley Hall. Even, apparently, the very young children of a person who has given up her time and plans to help you and your servants.’

  Anguish roiled through her entire body, every muscle, every nerve set quivering as her hopeless situation again reared over her.

  Lucas gathered her into his arms, holding her head against his chest. Great shudders erupted through her and scalding tears began to flow. Her legs, stringy and useless, could support her no longer and she slumped against him.

  ‘Shh.’ He rocked her, stroking her hair. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen.’

  It already has! Her anguished scream echoed around her head. What was she to do?

  Lucas moved suddenly and Mary was swept into his arms.

  ‘No! Your leg!’

  She stared blurrily at his set features
as he deposited her on the chaise longue, then sat alongside in a reversal of their usual positions. Sweat had broken on his brow. Her guilt was enough to stem her tears. A clean handkerchief was thrust into her hand and she used it gratefully.

  ‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I shouldn’t have...’

  ‘Hush.’

  He was very close, jet-black eyes full of concern, soft and tender. He smoothed her hair from her face as he twisted round to face her, his hip hard against her thigh. He was so close. His lips—smooth and sensual—entranced her as his breath fanned her damp skin. He was all she could see, feel, hear. His musky scent enveloped her. She must taste him. His eyes darkened as awareness flared.

  Long fingers wove into her hair, dislodging her pins. It tumbled around her face and he smoothed it back once more, his eyes searching hers as his mouth lowered—achingly slowly—to hers. A tiny part of her—still cautious, still sensible, still shockable—clamoured at her to stop, but her heart and her body, every last fibre of her, refused to obey. She wanted this, had fantasised about it.

  It is only a kiss. What could be the harm?

  Mary shuddered with anticipation as their lips met and Lucas took control. Heat flushed her entire body as his lips opened against hers, hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to explore and taste at will. His hand cradled her skull, holding her as his lips moved sensuously against hers. She savoured every moment, mirroring each caress of his lips and tongue.

  His lips left hers and traced a scorching path along her jaw to her earlobe. Heat spiralled from her core and she tipped her head aside to ease his access. He licked and nibbled, sending waves of desire crashing through her. Beyond thought now, she pressed closer, ripples of excitement coursing through her. She brushed her fingertips along his jaw, savouring the roughness of his skin, and then tangled her fingers through his silky hair, her low hum of pleasure echoed by his visceral growl as his lips claimed hers once more.

  His hands, sensually exploring, feathered her face, neck, back and the rounded tops of her breasts, raising heated yet shivery skin in their wake. Her nipples hardened and she felt that glorious, tugging sensation deep in her core, stoking her need.

  Too soon, he lifted his head. They stared into one another’s eyes, their breath mingling in erratic bursts.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that, Mary. You were upset. I took advantage.’

  Abruptly, Lucas stood. He tugged Mary to her feet.

  ‘I could have stopped you. I should have. But I didn’t.’

  Mary touched her fingertips to his lips. Common sense—that curse of her nature—began to reassert itself.

  ‘I am sorry. I must go.’

  ‘Go? What do you mean? Not...?’

  She did not elaborate. She wasn’t even certain herself what she meant. She needed time to think.

  * * *

  Going back to her father was inevitable and mayhap the sooner she faced up to that, the better. She headed downstairs with new determination.

  ‘Now the immediate crisis has past, I think we should leave.’

  Mrs Lindley looked up from rolling out pastry for a pie for supper, her expression perplexed.

  ‘But why the rush to go?’ she queried. ‘I thought you and the bairns were happy here. His lordship’ll still need caring for, you know, and at least he knows about the children now, dear little souls that they are. He might disapprove, but there’s no danger of his seeing them again until he’s able to get down them stairs.

  ‘I don’t mind admitting what a help you’ve been to us all, despite our...um...difference of opinion. I don’t know how we would’ve coped without you. You’ve seen for yourself how stretched we are.’

  ‘I know, Lindy,’ Mary replied suppressing the panic looming inside. ‘But we cannot remain here for ever, and the longer we leave it, the worse the weather will become. We have several miles to travel yet.’

  ‘Mama?’

  Toby tugged at Mary’s hand. ‘Yes, lovey?’

  ‘I like it here. Em’ly does too.’ He gestured to Emily, playing with a kitten on the rug before the kitchen fire. ‘Why don’t you like it, Mama?’

  Mary regarded the children ruefully. Their time at the Hall had probably been the most tranquil the children could remember for a long time, if ever, in their short lives. Despite Mary’s preoccupation with nursing Lucas, the children had wanted for neither love nor attention, having captured the hearts of all the servants. The last thing Mary wanted was to subject them to another long journey, with the added uncertainty of what kind of welcome they could expect at the other end.

  ‘I do like it here, Toby, very much. But I am sure Lord Rothley will not want us to stay, eating him out of house and home,’ she said as she tweaked her son’s cheek. She took his hand, which clutched a half-eaten biscuit and shook it, trying to make a joke out of her words.

  Then her heart broke as Toby pushed his biscuit into her hand, crying, ‘I won’t eat much, Mama, I promise. Don’t let him send us away. I’m sorry I called him a bad man. I can work. Shorey said I can help with the horses.’

  Mary crouched in front of Toby. ‘His lordship isn’t sending us away, Toby. We have to go. We are going to visit your grandpapa.’

  Toby stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Who?’

  ‘My father, lovey. We will live in the house I lived in when I was little. Won’t that be fun?’

  Toby hung his head. ‘I like it here,’ he repeated as Emily toddled over to him and put her hand in his. ‘We want to stay. Pleeease, Mama.’

  Mary gathered them both into her arms, gazing at Mrs Lindley, who shrugged. ‘Out of the mouths...’ she muttered as she finished topping her pie.

  Trant slid into the room a few moments later.

  ‘His lordship sends his compliments, Mrs Vale, and asks if you would do him the honour of dining with him this evening?’

  ‘Dine? Where?’

  ‘In the Blue Room, ma’am.’ He turned to Mrs Lindley. ‘He also said...’ he coughed ‘...he doesn’t want any more slops—those are his words, not mine—but a proper meal, if you please.’

  ‘He must be on the mend, thank goodness,’ Mrs Lindley said, beaming. ‘I’m surprised it’s taken this long for him to start making demands.’

  Mary listened, mixed emotions of dread and anticipation coiling in the pit of her stomach as she remembered the last time they had met.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mary.

  She soothed his soul with her calm presence and her sweet nature. As he waited for her to join him for dinner that night, Lucas conjured up her image: her kind eyes, ready smile and the scattered freckles on her nose; her rosy lips, ripe for his kisses; her lush curves. Her children! Jolted out of his daydream, his muscles tensed and he stalked across the room to the window. Pain tore at his thigh in protest at his careless strides but he ignored it as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass.

  Then he forced himself to pause and to think.

  He considered the reasons why everyone had colluded to keep the presence of the children from him. His conclusions were not comfortable. He was in danger of turning into an autocratic curmudgeon. Like his father. He had announced his decree that children would not be countenanced in his household in order to prevent the constant speculation about when, and who, he might wed in order to beget an heir.

  He would not wed, there would be no heir.

  The sadness and reproach in his mother’s eyes had haunted him. It was that, as well as his desire to hide his growing anxiety over the repayment of his father’s loan, which had prompted his insistence she move to the Dower House. With the benefit of hindsight, that was not the best decision he had ever made but his pride—he now saw—had prevented him from changing his mind. Now Mama had been away for several months and he had been more lonely and isolated than ever.

  Until Mary had entered his life.

  When she walked into his room, the world seemed brighter. The impossible seemed possible. But now...his thoughts came full
circle. She had concealed the presence of her children from him. His fault, yes, that nobody dared to mention their existence, but that Mary had lied felt like a betrayal.

  But still he wasn’t ready to lose her.

  The more he had grown accustomed to her presence, the more he yearned for it, despite the unwelcome memories of Julia resurrected by her beautiful blue eyes.

  Robert’s words from that afternoon echoed through his mind and Lucas recognised that, just as he was not his father, he must acknowledge that Mary was not Julia. In fact, he realised, he was reminded less and less of Julia every time he saw Mary.

  But despite his growing feelings, a future with Mary was impossible.

  A tap at the door jolted him from his reflections. The door opened and Mary stood silhouetted in the gap. He limped towards her, the increased pain in his leg reminding him of his foolishly abrupt movement earlier. His leg had been improving, getting easier every day, until now.

  That’s the result of your rash temper. It makes you act on impulse, without regard for the consequences. He resolved yet again to be more mindful in future.

  ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Mary said.

  She stood close, gazing up at him, her expression serious. He sensed the tension in her body, the control she exerted over her emotions. He drank in the sight of her silky skin, her luscious lips, her cornflower eyes with their long, pale lashes and the glorious soft gold of her hair, pinned back in her customary chignon. He itched to release those pins, to watch as her hair streamed over her shoulders, to gather great handfuls and bury his face in the sweet-scented mass. His gaze dropped and roved her creamy décolletage, enticingly framed by the lace-edged neckline of her dress.

  ‘I am pleased you accepted.’

  Her scent enveloped him. It infused every fibre of his being and he stepped back lest he yielded to the temptation to haul her into his arms. She glided across the room to the window. The curtains were undrawn despite night having fallen and Mary’s image was blurrily reflected against the blackness of the night sky beyond the glass.