Marcus watched in amusement as Addy tried to repair her hair enough to accommodate the now, somewhat mangled, carriage hat. She looked delightfully ruffled after their brief interlude in the carriage.
A sudden desire to halt a discussion of the custody of his much-debated heart had been his first instinct. However, from the moment his lips touched hers, the pleasure of her touch had been his sole need. The whispered words, the wordless directions, all had served to feed a hunger for her that grew more powerful every day.
It was just as well they had been summoned home. Another week under Addy’s spell and she would control him completely. Worse, she might very well snatch the tattered remains of his heart into her keeping, as she wished. He’d not chance it. If what the poets and philosophers touted was true, whoever controlled his heart would control his emotions as well.
Therein, lay the problem. He knew what heartbreak resulted when he lost control of himself. The ones who loved him best, those who gave to him freely of their own hearts, were always the ones to pay. Once you entrusted even a part of your heart to others, they gifted you with theirs. The thought of Addy’s heart, any part of it, at his mercy, terrified him. There was only one thing worse than to hold the heart of someone else in your unworthy hands. It was to know your own was in the care of someone completely worthy. For when you failed that person, especially through your own folly, there was never the promise of finding them again before they were lost to you forever.
Marcus had failed two people who meant the world to him. As he watched a flustered Addy straighten her clothes at the sight of the Abbey’s gates, he knew he would fail her too. Uncle Humpty had assured him God would forgive him anything. If he inflicted the kind of pain he knew himself capable of on Addy, he would never forgive himself.
“Do I look presentable?” Her anxious question caught him off guard. He smiled as his eyes raked her from head to toe—or rather from slightly crooked feather to untied boot.
“Marcus.”
He ignored her indignant cry as he lifted her foot into his lap and proceeded to retie her black half boot. “You look lovely, my dear. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I have spent the last half hour being mauled by my husband in a moving carriage.”
“More like an hour,” he said. He managed to still the twitching of his lips. Barely. “And I do not remember the lady protesting this much when she was being, what did you call it? Mauled?”
The carriage slowed as the driver guided it up the tree-lined drive and circled the fountain to reach the front door.
Addy reached forward and adjusted the disarrayed folds of his neckcloth. “I do not wish the entire staff to know what we have been doing all week.” She sat back and smiled out the window at the footman who descended the front portico steps to open the carriage door. “I am a duchess now. I would like to exude a modicum of decorum.”
Marcus coughed to cover his bark of laughter. “I assure you, Your Grace, the entire staff knows exactly what we have been doing all week.” Her face turned bright pink just as the footman opened the door. It was fortunate the efficient young man was there to hand her out. Had he not been, Marcus was certain she would have tumbled onto the drive in embarrassment.
As it was, she simply smiled sweetly at the footman and descended the folded-out steps like a queen. The dark look she shot him when he left the carriage to join her, made him want to laugh. He offered her his arm. She promptly elbowed him in the ribs before she placed her delicate ungloved hand on his. Marcus barely had time to recover before his mother’s voice preceded her onto the long stone terrace.
“Selridge, thank God you are here.” She did not draw breath even when she kissed his cheek and gave Addy a one-armed hug. “That awful man has been here every day. His dogs were stolen, he is certain his son has been murdered, and you will not believe who he says has done it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Adelaide allowed herself to be swept into the foyer on the tide that was her mother-in-law. It was fortunate she had Marcus’s arm as support. Otherwise she might very well still be on the front portico, collapsed in a heap of velvet and petticoats. How she managed to take even the first step after the dowager’s announcement was a mystery.
Unlike her husband, she knew at once to whom the flustered woman referred. She prayed against all odds her own guess as to whom the squire accused was simply the vivid imagination of a slightly guilty conscience. This was not the way she had hoped to take up her duties as duchess.
The booming barks of Marcus’s two deerhounds echoed in the cavernous marble foyer. Romulus and Remus tumbled down the stairs to greet their master. The dowager continued to regale Marcus with the horror of her trying visitor. Adelaide knelt to pet the dogs. They nearly tumbled her over in their enthusiasm. She didn’t mind as Marcus’s attempt to rescue her added to the noise. Perhaps he wouldn’t hear it when his mother announced the squire had accused his new wife of thievery. And possibly murder.
The reprieve Emily’s frenetic chatter afforded her was a short one. After several attempts to interrupt her, Marcus finally managed to get his mother’s attention.
“Mother, can you not see how exhausted Addy is?” The foyer was suddenly as quiet as a tomb. Quite a feat when one considered the number of people it contained. Winfield Abbey’s reed thin stately butler, the housekeeper, Addy’s personal maid, six footmen who stopped in the middle of unloading the luggage and the now dowager duchess all stared at their new duchess in expectant speculation.
In the middle of it all, stood her husband, completely oblivious to the inappropriateness of his remark. Not a soul present would say so in her presence, but she knew what they thought. There could be only one reason for her exhaustion. It was not the two-hour carriage ride from the hunting box.
“Selridge, really.” Emily’s voice broke the spell of silence.
With a single glance the butler set the servants in motion. “Welcome home, Your Graces,” he intoned with a solemn bow.
“Thank you, Fosters,” Marcus said. “It is good to be home.”
As quickly as it filled at their arrival, the foyer emptied until only Adelaide, Marcus and Emily remained. Now the news of the stolen dogs, and the missing son, and who was accused would come out. Adelaide wished she could produce a swoon to match Marcus’s announcement of her supposed exhaustion. Surely the dowager would forget all about that “awful man” in the wake of a fainting daughter-in-law.
The thump of a fist against wool-covered muscles interrupted her consideration of the perfect form in which to fall to the floor. Marcus was rubbing his arm. His mother had obviously expressed her displeasure in a gesture long used by irate mothers.
“Selridge, what on earth were you thinking making such an announcement in front of the servants? Have you no sense of decorum at all? Adelaide, my dear, I am so sorry you—”
“Mother, will you please do me the honor of holding your tongue for just a moment?” His icy expression and dignified tone were enough to terrify the most steadfast of servants. Too bad he chose to use them on the two women least impressed with his consequence. She could tell at a glance his mother was not insulted in the least. Her own mother would have boxed any one of her brothers’ ears for them if they had ever been so foolish as to speak to her in such a way. Actually, Henrietta Formsby-Smythe would still be talking.
“Marcus, really,” Adelaide said. “There is no need to speak to your mother so. Especially as you are the one who completely embarrassed me in front of—“
He threw up his hands and walked up the stairs. The two women exchanged a grin and linked arms to follow him. He was still mumbling to himself when they joined him in the front parlor. They settled onto the cheery yellow flowered brocade sofa and waited for him to pour his drink. He downed one long draught of brandy and turned to face them.
“Can I speak now?” he asked. His mother started to answer. Adelaide squeezed the older woman’s hand. The vein at Marcus’s temple, the one that bisected his
scar and usually gave good indication as to the level of his frustration, pulsed intermittently. Emily squeezed her hand back in agreement.
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Emily said sweetly. “You see us all atwitter in anticipation.”
Adelaide coughed politely and covered her grin with her hand. She did love her mother-in-law. Marcus rolled his eyes and took a sip of his brandy. He had that odd glint of superiority in his eyes. She knew his next words would be either sarcastic or idiotic, or perhaps both. There was an odd comfort in the idea she already knew him well enough to predict his actions.
“First of all,” he started. “Let me thank you for your warm welcome home.”
“You’ve only been gone a week, Marcus. It isn’t as if you took Adelaide on a honeymoon trip to Italy as I suggested.” Emily had the sort of ageless beauty that lent itself to the endearing when she pouted. Her husband surely must have been unable to deny her a thing.
“I believe we decided we had scandalized society enough by marrying just six months after Julius’s death.” He held up his hand to halt both Emily’s protestations and her own. He had, after all, set the wedding date. “Not to mention issuing invitations for our small family wedding to every last member of the ton.” His mother blushed slightly and Adelaide patted her hand. She knew her own mother had more than a hand in sending out those invitations. God forbid, anyone in good society missed Henrietta’s daughter’s marriage to a duke. “An extravagant wedding trip would only have added fuel to the fire.”
He swirled the brandy in his glass and stared into it for a moment. “Where was I going with this? Mother, your ability to completely befuddle me is only matched by that of…”
Whilst he did not finish the sentence, his meaning could be in no doubt. After all, his eyes had settled on Adelaide’s face quite pointedly. She tilted her head and smiled at him in mock sweetness. He returned her smile with a tiny salute of his glass before he placed it on the mantel.
“Oh yes. Now I remember. Exactly which awful man has been here all week and who has killed his dogs?”
Adelaide knew it was too good to be true. Her stomach had just begun to untwist itself and now this. She hoped it was not necessary to kneel and close one’s eyes to pray in order for said prayers to be answered. If not, she’d spent the time since they’d arrived back at the Abby in vain. She’d been deep in conversation with God from the moment Emily set foot on the front terrace. Fine time for him to turn a deaf ear to her now.
“Sir Delbert Finch. And his dogs were stolen not killed. It is the son who may or may not be dead.” Emily’s voice indicated the man was held in less than high esteem. “He was at the wedding, but he had come straight from York and had not been home. Out gambling away the rest of his fortune, no doubt.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “The magistrate? Out gambling?”
“He has been in deep in dun territory for years. His wife and younger children have removed to London. He came home to an empty kennel, a drunken groom, a missing son and heir, and he has been here every day to demand you do something about it.”
“Me? He’s the magistrate. Why should I have to do anything about it?”
Emily’s face was priceless. She stared at her son in disbelief, rolled her eyes, looked at Adelaide and shook her head. “He really isn’t this dim, is he?”
The arrival of Fosters and a maid bearing a perfectly appointed tea tray made it easy to avoid the question. She doubted her mother-in-law really wanted an answer. A good thing, all in all, as she was still trying to think of how to succumb to some horrible ailment in order to distract her husband from further discussion of the squire’s missing dogs. And possibly murdered son.
Where was a good fever or attack of apoplexy when one was needed? For once in her life Adelaide wished she was one of those frail, sensitive creatures who fainted at the mention of the words thief or murderer. It would be a terribly convenient affliction to say the least. Perhaps it was not a good idea to wish for it. The last time she wished for something the ground opened up and swallowed her. It all ended rather nicely for her, but she had no intention of testing God’s sense of humor again.
With soundless efficiency, the maid placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa, curtsied and faded from the room like the last refrain of a song. Adelaide poured the tea and handed a cup, first to Marcus and then to Emily, all the while deep in thought. Her own cup she prepared and promptly settled onto a lace doily on the table. Were she to try to drink it she felt sure her hands would shake and give her away. What on earth was she to do?
“You will have to ask the duchess, Fosters. She is mistress of Winfield Abbey now.” Emily’s statement broke through Adelaide’s misery. She realized they all awaited her reply. Pity she had not heard the question. Fear of hanging and divorce would do that to a person. This new title was a bit demanding. After all it was only her first day.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?” She smiled at the butler and pointedly ignored her husband’s smirk over his teacup.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” he began. His head bobbed in a brief bow. “The chef insists the fish delivered this morning is not fit for the dogs. He wishes to know what he may substitute for this evening’s dinner.”
Good heavens they all looked at her as if she were the Oracle of Delphi. How was she to know? She had never run a household in her life. She was about to be exposed as a horse thief and the butler wanted to know what fish to serve. Please God, the panic she felt didn’t show on her face. Before she knew it she opened her mouth to speak.
“Do we have fresh eels available, Fosters?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“You hate eels, Addy,” Marcus reminded her. He had finished his tea and come to sit in a chair next to the table so he could plunder through the selection of biscuits on the tray. He actually remembered her aversion to eating eel? It was difficult to tell who was more surprised at his statement, Adelaide or his mother. He, of course, missed the look the two women exchanged.
“Yes, but His Grace loves them,” Adelaide continued to address the butler. “Tell the chef to prepare the eel dish he prepared last week. As I recall, His Grace ate three helpings of it.” The butler nodded his approval. “What is the dessert this evening, Fosters?”
“Syllabub, ma’am. And a selection of strawberry and lemon tarts. Your favorites, I believe, ma’am.”
“Perfect.” She gave the man her sunniest smile. “Please inform the chef his desserts more than make up for the eel. Thank you, Fosters.”
With a solemn bow to the room in general, he slipped out the door and silently closed it. Emily reached over and squeezed Adelaide’s hand.
“That was very well done, my dear. You’re going to have the staff eating out of your hand.” A warm wave of pride eddied around Adelaide’s heart. So much for her concern that she was too young to be a—
“Now, Mother, could you please explain why the magistrate thinks I am supposed to do something about his missing dogs and possibly missing son?” Marcus asked. “Preferably, without the insults and the rolling of your eyes?”
The warm wave turned into an inferno, followed immediately by a cold chill. She knew it was too good to be true. Emily turned toward her son and huffed indignantly.
“Selridge, in case you have forgotten, you are the highest-ranking peer in the county, in several counties in fact. That makes you the ultimate authority in the area. Of course, he expects you to do something.”
Adelaide lifted her teacup to her lips and prepared to watch mother and son spar over his responsibilities. As long as Emily had his attention, the subject of her midnight raid of the squire’s kennels would not arise. God forbid poor Emily remind him of his title. Nothing seemed to set him off like the mere mention of the word duke.
“Then, of course, there is his completely ridiculous claim that the thieves were members of the ton, here for the wedding, and one of them was a well-dressed lady.”
It all happened so quickly, Adela
ide did not realize what she had done until Marcus pulled out his handkerchief and began mopping her tea from his face. It did not help that his mother shook with silent laughter. Marcus’s face alternated between stony resignation and benevolent pity.
“Marcus, I mean, Selridge, I am so sorry,” she rushed to say. She snatched the handkerchief and finished what he’d started. “I just… I mean… I am so sorry. I can explain. Really, I can.”
“No need, my dear.” His voiced sounded like dry leaves underfoot. “At least this time I didn’t fall over any furniture.”
“Well, of course, she is shocked, Selridge.” Emily sat as primly as a nun, but her eyes still laughed at her tea-soaked son. “The very idea of the man accusing one of our guests and a lady too, of all things. If you ask me, the groom isn’t the only one who drinks. The cheek of the man. As if we would invite dog thieves to a Selridge wedding.”
“Would we invite them to any other kind of wedding, I wonder?” Marcus grinned and ducked the serviette his mother tossed at him. Adelaide knew now what people meant when they said they were torn.
Here she sat, in complete fear of discovery, and yet she smiled at the playful mood between mother and son. A month ago, when she and her parents had arrived, she never would have dreamed such a light-hearted exchange possible. Julius would be so pleased. Until Marcus discovered not only had there been a dog thief as guest at the wedding, the bride was one as well.
“I suppose I shall have to see the man.” Marcus sighed and rooted around the biscuit plate with his fingers. Adelaide plucked an almond biscuit from it and handed it to him. “I am supposed to be on my honeymoon, dammit. This is a fine welcome home.”
“Watch your language, Your Grace. There are ladies present.” Emily rose and shook out the skirts of her lavender day gown. “Thank God young Crosby stayed on for a few days after your family left, Adelaide, dear. He sent the squire away with a flea in his ear. Very gallant, that one. I am surprised no marriage-minded miss has set her cap at him.”
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 21
