The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis

by Christina McKnight

  As the man scurried off, Eli could imagine him in stockings and heeled boots.

  “Who is next?” Sam tapped her finger against her glass, taking in all the guests in the room.

  “I thought you said your sister was requesting our attention.” He looked toward Lord Cartwright and Miss Judith, but they were engaged in conversation with their host—who’d arrived at some point without Eli noticing. “Miss Judith does not appear to need us.”

  “I have other sisters.”

  Eli glanced to Miss Payton, who’d left her perch on the chaise to speak with another fiery-haired woman. He’d met her that morning—Lord Chastain’s wife if he were not mistaken.

  Once again, Sam brought her flute close to her mouth and whispered, “See the blonde woman—standing with Garrett and staring daggers at me?”

  It was the woman who’d nodded to Miss Payton earlier. “That is your eldest sister, correct?” He couldn’t keep the shocked tone from his voice. “She looks nothing like you—or Payton.”

  “We are half-siblings—we share a mother,” Sam answered. “My sister’s name is Marce. Since our mother’s death, she has raised us all…at Craven House, once, long ago, the most notorious bordello in all of London—some have claimed, all of England.”

  “You jest,” Eli said a bit too forcefully, catching the notice of Lord Gunther by the window along with several others he’d yet to meet.

  Chapter 13

  “I never jest about scandal, my lord,” she hissed with a deep, throaty laugh. “And it would behoove you to keep your voice down. Everyone in attendance is well aware of my family situation, as it were.” Well, except for her long-lost father’s inopportune reappearance in her life. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Elijah, Sam would have claimed ill and stayed in her room for the evening.

  “You were raised in a bordello?” His eyes rounded, and he made no attempt to act as if he sought to mingle with anyone else in the room as his body turned fully toward her, his back to the other guests with Sam pinned between his towering frame and the wall. “Your mother was a…a…”

  “Madame,” she offered the correct term. “Madame Sasha. And for a while, my sister was Madame Marce, but the immoral side of Craven House is long gone. The most that takes place behind our doors now are high-stakes card games. And do not look so utterly shocked.”

  “Lord Cartwright is aware—“

  “Everyone in this room is aware,” Sam confided, taking pleasure in his stunned stare. Beauchamp, the only man to know firsthand the pleasures to be found at Craven House, was not present. She’d been relieved to not spot him among the guests…and she dared to hope that he understood he’d overstepped and retreated from Hollybrooke altogether. “Do not stare so intently. Truly, the circumstances surrounding our births and upbringings are not newsworthy here. I had a childhood similar to those of other London youths, complete with schooling and such. Marce—and my mother before her—made certain we were raised as ladies. ”

  “My apologies, I did not mean to offend you or your family.” He held her stare as he spoke. “I am unfamiliar with the ways of town life.”

  “Your astonishment does not offend me, nor do you need ask my forgiveness.” It was odd that her family circumstances had always been something she hid when possible. When she’d attended soirees and the opera with Lord Chastain or Lady Haversham, she’d always been guarded with her name and connections—but she hadn’t hesitated or experienced any anxiousness when telling Elijah. Now was not the time to dwell on the reasoning behind her forthcoming nature with him; however, it could have much to do with their kiss or his discovery of her in Cummings’ study, clutching that wicked book. Or maybe it was the way he’d spoken to her, soothed her hurt earlier until they both laughed, her tears forgotten.

  “Do not look now, but your sister—the blonde one—is headed our way,” he whispered. “What warning have you for her?”

  Marce fairly floated in their direction, ever the poised lady, though many would never address her as such. It was a shame their eldest sister spent most of her time caring for their home, her siblings, and any person who sought out Craven House as a refuge. She refused every invitation for herself, except when it came from a close acquaintance—or furthered her objectives to marry off her siblings.

  “There is no warning grand enough for my dear eldest sister.” Unknowingly, Sam had inched closer to Eli, their shoulders now touching as Marce bore down on them—her expression less than friendly but ever cordial. “Sister.”

  Marce scrutinized her as if to judge how angry or hurt or disappointed Sam was with Marce’s interference in her life, and Jude’s.

  Sam only notched her chin higher, determined not to give her sister a glimpse of the betrayal that filled her at Marce’s meddling.

  However, she only stepped forward and wrapped Sam in a hug. The sight likely looked comical to those around them, as Sam was a full head taller than her petite sister, though that had never stopped Marce.

  “Samantha.” Marce pulled back for one more intense stare before releasing her. “Please, introduce me to your companion.”

  “Elijah Watson, the Marquis of Ridgefeld, may I present,” she paused before continuing, knowing her sister would be angered by Sam’s next words, but there was little she could do while surrounded by so many people, “Lady Marce Davenport, my eldest sister.”

  True to form, her sister bristled at the use of her title. It had always confused Sam why her sister did not acknowledge her status as the daughter of a duke—the legitimate daughter of a duke, no less.

  “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Eli replied.

  “It is only Marce.” Her sister winced, and Sam felt a spike of remorse. “I’d like to thank you for collecting Sam before the storm washed her away.”

  “When I set out that morning, I had no intention of rescuing a damsel in distress; however, it pleased me greatly to have been on the road at that exact time, or there is no doubt Miss Samantha would be suffering a chill from the cold downpour.”

  A grin lit Marce’s face as she was clearly taken with Eli’s dashing discourse. The man did not know it, but he had a charm that was severely lacking in London.

  “Garrett and I are very fortunate you were on your way to Hollybrooke.” Marce turned to Sam once more. “And thank you for introducing Lord Ridgefeld to our guests.”

  “Of course.” None of the guests were Sam’s choice, for if she’d had any voice in the guest list, she would have scratched Gunther immediately and likely burned Stanford’s invitation. Though, both men were close with Lord Cartwright. Sam supposed the bridegroom should be allowed to have his friends present.

  “Oh, speaking of Garrett, he is requesting me at his side—the soon-to-be dowager Lady Cartwright has arrived.” Marce nodded to them both. “Do excuse me…and wish me luck. The woman is a viper if I have ever met one.”

  Elijah chuckled, as if unaware how tense their conversation had been. “Do send for me if you need any assistance, my lady.”

  “I surely will,” Marce said. “I look forward to conversing more during our meal.”

  Sam couldn’t help but smirk. Before departing her room to find Eli, Sam had sent her maid to the formal dining room to switch their place cards. She’d known Elijah, as a marquis, would be seated close to the head of the table, while she would be farther down. Even an informal country party need follow proper seating protocols—but for a new pair of mink-lined gloves, her maid was more than happy to make certain Lord Ridgefeld was seated next to her mistress—and far from her sister or Beauchamp, if he chose to attend the meal.

  If Marce noticed her sly smile, she ignored it as she floated toward Garrett, who attempted to slip from Cartwright’s mother’s hold.

  “Dearest sister!” A sweet voice sang behind them. Sam turned to see Lady Theodora, a smile upon her face with her book clasped to her chest. “Did you hear the wonderful news?”

  Lord Ridgefeld raised a brow, a silent inquiry about yet
another sister.

  Sam shook her head before continuing. “I have not, Theo—but before you tell me, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” The word sent a jolt through her entire body, from her toes to the tips of her ears. “May I present Lord Ridgefeld to you, Lady Theodora Montgomery? Elijah, this is Cartwright’s sister. And on the morrow, officially my family by marriage…another sister.”

  Elijah made a grand gesture of bowing deeply to the child. “Lady Theodora, the pleasure is mine.”

  She giggled and dipped into a curtsy. “Do call me Theo or Lady Theo if I am to call you Elijah.”

  “A lady such as you must call me Eli,” he said with a wink, sending Theo into another round of soft laughter and drawing the attention of the other guests. “Now, what news have you for us?”

  When had she and Elijah become an ‘us?’

  The girl’s enthusiasm always astonished Sam. “Yes, Theo, tell us the grand news.”

  Sam wouldn’t admit that she’d already heard from Jude—and overheard Theo’s mother ranting over the decision shortly after their arrival at Hollybrooke.

  “I depart for Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality in Canterbury immediately following Cart’s wedding.” Theo hopped up and down once more. “Simon has agreed to allow me to journey alone—with only my maid as chaperone while he and Jude continue on to our country estate.”

  “Miss Emmeline’s…what?” Eli asked. “You must tell me of this school.”

  Theo’s eyes fairly twinkled with delight. “It is a boarding school for girls. Mother has agreed to allow me to study there until I am presented to society.”

  “That is wonderful news, Theo.” Sam smiled encouragingly. “I know you will do well. Lady Theo is perhaps the most intelligent woman I know.”

  “Then I am happy to know her, as well,” Eli said. “I look forward to hearing all about your time at school when next we meet.”

  A bell sounded, and a servant cleared his throat before addressing the group. “Dinner is served, ladies and gentlemen. Please make your way to the dining hall.”

  Sam noted Marce moving in her direction, but Eli offered her his arm, which she gladly took before they turned to follow the other guests from the salon. Beauchamp had had the sense to remain absent.

  As they moved down the hall toward the wonderful smells of duck, fresh bread, and other savory dishes, each fighting to have their aroma greet the hungry guests first, Sam leaned close and whispered, “It is said that Cummings’ cook was brought all the way from Bucharest near the Black Sea.”

  “The man has much in the way of rare items in his home.” It was the first mention of Cummings’ risqué collection of books, and Sam’s cheeks heated at the thought. “Cummings is full of noteworthy surprises.”

  They entered the room, servants at the ready to seat Lord Cummings’ guests as they located their places. The long table was set with candelabras and sparkling, polished silver trays overflowing with meats and cheeses. Another deep bowl steamed with soup. It was a feast meant to honor Lord Cartwright and her sister’s coming union.

  Her twin and her betrothed sat to the left of Lord Cummings at the head of the table, with Cart’s mother and Marce to his right. The seat next to Marce was suspiciously empty. Had it been intended for Lord Ridgefeld?

  It didn’t matter.

  “Our seats are here,” Eli ushered her toward the foot of the table, their cards propped upon their plates—their names written in Jude’s heavy-handed script. “We are next to one another, Miss Samantha. What a wonderful surprise.”

  Payton and Theo had already taken their seats across from Sam.

  Unfortunately, Stanford appeared at her elbow as a servant pulled a chair back for the man to sit. Her maid had certainly not earned her new mink gloves.

  “Miss Samantha,” the man purred. “It seems we will be sharing our meal.”

  Not if Sam could help it, but there was little to be done as Lord and Lady Chastain took the seats next to Payton and all the other guests located their places.

  Sitting, Sam wedged her chair ever so slightly to better face Elijah and hopefully discourage Stanford’s unwanted attentions.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Cummings said, standing to gain the attention of every guest. “We are gathered here at Hollybrooke to celebrate Lord Cartwright and Miss Judith Pengarden. Let us feast, drink, and be merry!”

  Everyone cheered, raising his or her glass in salute. Sam couldn’t help but join in the revelry. Her sister was to be married in just a few short hours. Nothing would be as it was. Upon her return to London, Jude’s side of their room would be emptied—her dresses removed from their closet, her brushes gone from their dressing table, and her writing desk moved to Lord Cartwright’s home. Her new stationery and calling cards would read Lady Cartwright with her new directions.

  No longer were they Miss Samantha and Miss Judith—an inseparable pair.

  Jude the rational one, and Sam the hellion.

  Who was Sam to be without her twin by her side?

  Chapter 14

  “Oh, certainly not, Lady Theo,” Eli cautioned. “The wilds of Africa are far more dangerous than the moors of Scotland. I once witnessed a crocodile leap two feet from the water to snap its jaws around a bird flying above.”

  At the Ooohs and Ahhhs issued from both Miss Payton and Lady Theo, Eli smiled contently, risking a sideways glance at Sam, who used her fork to push the remaining morsels of food around on her plate. She’d been unaffected by their debate regarding the dangerous nature of society. In fact, she’d kept her eyes trained on the remnants of pheasant and avoided discussions with everyone at the table. Her mood drifted from lighthearted to melancholy as the evening progressed; even her quick wit and their entertaining banter had died to silence as course after course of savory deliciousness were placed before them.

  Eli had been under the impression they’d both agreed to banish their gloom.

  “The meal is distinct from any I’ve tasted before—in all my travels,” Eli said, hoping to draw her from her sullen silence. “Many of the spices I have never sampled before.”

  Lady Theo and Miss Payton chatted happily amongst themselves, leaving Eli free to dedicate his attention to Sam once more.

  “Now, I must ask your opinion on something. Do you think Stanford prefers lavender or peach-scented perfume?” His question was whispered, unheard by the other guests over the many conversations around them; however, she did not acknowledge him. “A penny for your thoughts, Miss Samantha?”

  A servant stepped forward and removed his plate, turning to Sam next. “May I, miss?”

  “Oh, certainly. I am finished.” She set her fork aside and shifted, allowing the servant room to collect her plate. “Thank you.”

  “Miss Samantha.” Eli caught her eye before she had time to return it to the table. “You seemed rather distracted—which I thought was my duty—during our meal. Is anything amiss?”

  She shook her head, her mouth opening to speak, but Lord Cummings stood, once again signaling for everyone’s attention. The man seemed to enjoy his obligations as host, as he’d spent the entire meal speaking with anyone who would listen.

  “Ladies.” Cummings’ robust voice echoed off the walls enclosing the room as servants hurried to and fro, removing plates and clearing the serving dishes. “While it has been great having you underfoot, I am afraid you have overstayed your welcome. If you will be so kind as to retire to the drawing room, we will join you shortly.”

  Everyone laughed—with the exception of Sam—as the women stood, preparing to depart the room.

  Sam stood quickly with barely a weak smile for him before turning and following the other women out.

  A man, tall and lanky, slipped into the room as the doors shut solidly behind him, cutting off the chatting from the women as they journeyed back to the drawing room—leaving Eli alone with the other men. He kept his seat when Lord Cummings and several of the men moved to th
e sideboard, the host pouring each a large tumbler of port.

  It gave Eli time to inspect each gentleman. They would be his peers if he chose to remain in London for a spell after delivering his grandfather’s collection to the museum. Lord Haversham and Mr. Jakeston stood chuckling at something Lord Chastain said. Eli was too far away to overhear the jest, but Jakeston slapped his friend on the back when his laughter turned to coughing as if he’d choked on his port.

  Stanford, the auctioneer, had wandered toward a shelf along the far wall and examined a row of books. Cartwright, Cummings, and Gunther stood at the sideboard, refilling their cups as the final man, who’d slipped into the group only after the women had departed, stood several paces away, speaking to no one. From the turn of the man’s head, Eli suspected he listened to Lord Cartwright’s conversation.

  Maybe he too was unfamiliar with those in attendance.

  Elijah stood and strode toward the man, his auburn locks and the set of his chin oddly familiar. He could at least make the man feel welcome—as Sam had done for him the day before.

  “Have you just arrived at Hollybrooke?” Elijah asked, stopping before him.

  “Earlier this morning, yes.” He appeared relieved to have someone to speak with. “Lord Beauchamp.”

  “I am Elijah, Lord Ridgefeld,” he responded with a nod. “I only arrived yesterday. You did not attend the meal.”

  Beauchamp glanced around, beads of sweat appearing across his forehead. “No, I had other business to attend to. Are you a friend of Lord Cartwright?”

  “Yes—and no,” Eli said with a chuckle. “My grandfather and Lord Cartwright were well acquainted. I am here with museum business.” When the man only nodded, Eli asked, “And you? Are you a friend or part of the family? I understand the gathering only includes a limited number.”

  “Yes—and no.” Beauchamp made use of Eli’s explanation. “I am family—here to see my daughters.”

  “Oh,” Eli didn’t bother keeping his interest at bay. “Will they be joining the party shortly?”