Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4)

by Samantha Grace

  She pursed her lips and sniffed. “Why should I bother? You set your mind against me years ago. You always favored your father over me. You never loved me.”

  This conversation was deteriorating quickly, and he had no patience for her dramatics. “If not an income, what is it you want from me, Mother? Speak up so we might conclude our business.”

  “There is no dowager house,” she said, “and the modest income I will receive will hardly keep me in decent lodgings. I require a place to live.”

  His eyebrow arched in doubt. “You wish to reside at Lanfort Castle?”

  “Good heavens, no! I would rather make my bed in a stable than return to the family seat. Everywhere I look, I will be reminded of your father. I want the dowager cottage.”

  “I see.” He formed a steeple with his fingers. “Is this the only reason you requested an audience—to request use of the dowager cottage?”

  “It is a pressing issue, Crispin. I can hardly think of anything besides my beloved husband’s illness, and what will happen to me after his demise. What more did you expect?”

  He laughed under his breath and shook his head in disbelief at her gall. “Nothing, Mother. I have learned to expect nothing from you.” Unwinding his body, he pushed up from the chair. “I have no use for the cottage. Take it. I hope you find contentment there. I must go.”

  As he reached the threshold of the sitting room, she called to him. “Is it true you have brought your betrothed?”

  He turned to face her warily. “I am traveling with my betrothed and her great-aunt. I would like to make introductions when you join us for supper this evening.”

  “You must dine without me. I cannot possibly leave Mr. Ness’s side.”

  Only when it suits you.

  “I expect there will be time to make her acquaintance once I am settled into the dowager cottage,” she said. “What arrangements will you be making for when she becomes a widow?”

  “When she becomes a widow? Are you plotting my demise?”

  “G-good heavens, no!” His mother sputtered. “How could you ask such a thing?”

  “You needn’t be concerned for Sophia, although I suspect your real concern is for yourself.” His smile was strained. “I will make alternate living arrangements for her in the unfortunate event I am no longer around to see to her needs. I would not dream of asking her to move into the dowager cottage with you. I cannot inflict your companionship on her.”

  An outraged cry burst from his mother; she bolted from the chair and retreated to the window. She stared at the landscape, dabbing at her eyes with a pristine white handkerchief.

  “Nothing I do or say is ever correct in your eyes. Nothing. Even as a young boy, you hated me, and now you have grown into a cruel man—cold and horrid like your father. He hardened you against me like I always knew he would. Thank God, I was allowed one son to love me. At least I know I can count on Alexander to take care of me in my old age.”

  He directed his gaze toward the ceiling, digging deep inside for patience. There was none left. She had depleted his reserves. “I am beginning to think the only true victim in this scenario is Alexander. He has my sympathies.”

  Crispin stalked from the sitting room before she attempted to draw him back into this madness. She had shown him a mercy when she had turned him away all those years ago. He would choose to be grateful.

  Twenty

  The next morning Sophia was breaking her fast alone in the dining room when her aunt bustled in with her parasol and bonnet. Sophia glanced up from her task of spreading butter on a warm bun.

  “You are awake earlier than I expected, Auntie.”

  Aunt Beatrice harrumphed. “I should think so, considering I slept through supper last night. Why did no one wake me?”

  “The housekeeper attempted to rouse you when she brought a tray to your chambers. You told her to stop being a nuisance.”

  Her aunt’s eyes rounded. “Was that Mrs. Poindexter caterwauling like an old barn cat? Ma’am!” She drew out the word, long and plaintive. “If I could have reached my boot, I might have lobbed it in her direction.”

  “It is rather fortunate you did not. I already feel we might not be welcome, and harassing the help would not win us any favor.”

  “Not welcome? Lieutenant Locke was a gracious host when we arrived. What did I miss at supper last night?”

  “Nothing, I am afraid. Crispin’s mother did not join us.”

  Aunt Beatrice clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Dearest, you cannot view her refusal as an affront. Mr. Ness must be very ill to have kept her from making your acquaintance, but I am certain she will adore you once she is able to steal away for a moment to speak with you.”

  “I hope you are right about her receptiveness, Auntie.”

  Sophia traced the edge of the gilded teacup handle, recalling Crispin’s stoicism when he informed her that his mother would not be venturing below stairs last night. She had turned her back on her first-born—even after she knew his father was gone and Crispin was alone—but she couldn’t venture from her husband’s side for a moment to dine with the son she had abandoned. How could Sophia not take offense over the slight to the man she loved?

  “I expect we will have our chance to become familiar when Crispin’s mother takes up residence at the dowager cottage,” Sophia said.

  “I do not wish any harm on Mr. Ness, but I cannot help but think this is a step in the right direction. I am pleased Lord Margrave’s mother is attempting to repair the rift between them.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is good news.” If it were true...

  When Crispin had escorted Sophia to her room after dinner, his report of the meeting with his mother had been terse and lacking in detail. Sophia had attempted to draw him into conversation, sensing he might have unresolved feelings after seeing his mother again, but he had cut the evening short. A lack of sleep the night prior had left him weary, so he placed a kiss on her forehead and bade her good night.

  Sophia had crawled into bed rather unsatisfied. Although Crispin was not one to dissect his emotions—or even admit he had any—she had hoped the intimacy they had shared at the inn would last.

  She pulled the chair beside her away from the dining table and invited Aunt Beatrice to sit. “You must be famished since you missed supper. Here, you may have my bread and I will butter another one.”

  Her aunt waved off her offer. “I am setting off on my morning stroll. I will eat later.”

  Crispin would not approve of Sophia or her aunt venturing off without him, although frankly, his displeasure was not as strong a deterrent as the memory of almost being trampled at Lord and Lady Seabrook’s party. A country stroll had lost its appeal.

  “The gentlemen are occupied at the moment,” Sophia said. “Perhaps you could postpone your morning constitutional?”

  Crispin and Lieutenant Locke were cloistered in their stepfather’s study to discuss the danger that had driven them to flee London. She prayed Lieutenant Locke would allow them to stay. Dragging Aunt Beatrice around the countryside searching for safe haven would be wearing on her, not to mention the worry it would cause the poor dear. Surely, it would not come to that, but Sophia couldn’t fault Crispin’s brother if he determined the risk was too great.

  “I cannot see how the gentlemen’s activities are any of my concern,” Aunt Beatrice said, “but it does warm the heart to hear they are getting on well. There is no relationship quite like the one shared between siblings. What would you have done without Regina and Evangeline?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” She didn’t want to imagine it. Her older sisters were her closest companions, and she missed them terribly—especially now.

  “Do you want to join me in exercise, dearest?”

  “Crispin asked that we not wander outside without him or Lieutenant Locke,” Sophia said. “The men have been meeting for some time. I am sure they will be in for breakfast soon.”

  “Poppycock!” Aunt Beatrice smacked the end of her unope
ned parasol on the parquet floor. “I will not wait around for an escort. I have been walking on my own for seventy-five years and doing a damn fine job of it. I certainly know my way around a country lane without a man’s assistance.”

  “I really think we should wait for Crispin.”

  “You wait. I am going alone and taking this.” Her aunt snatched the buttered bun from Sophia’s plate and marched from the room, barely avoiding a run-in with a potted fern.

  “Gads,” Sophia mumbled. Her aunt had trouble navigating indoors. Without Sophia’s guidance, she might step in a hole and twist her ankle or stumble into the pond.

  “Auntie, wait!” Sophia wiped her hands on the napkin draped across her lap, discarded it on the table, and chased after her. When she caught up to Aunt Beatrice in the foyer, she linked their arms. “I have changed my mind. A walk sounds lovely, but I left my bonnet above stairs. Will you share your parasol?”

  Her aunt handed her the parasol then bit into the buttered bun, beaming triumphantly. She was quite the schemer when she wanted to be.

  “We should stay close,” Sophia said as they exited the house. “We would not want to become lost.”

  “You are beginning to sound like Regina. I have never known you to fret about anything.”

  Sophia sighed wistfully and drew her aunt closer to her side. “Perhaps because I am missing my sisters more than usual today.”

  “I miss them too, dear girl.”

  They strolled toward the back of the house where Sophia had spotted a pond from her bedchamber window. “Can you imagine Uncle Charles’s reaction when Regina and Evangeline surprise him in Athens? Do you believe he will take to Xavier?”

  “Regina is happy,” Aunt Beatrice said. “Charlie would not kick up a fuss, even if he and Mr. Vistoire did not get on well. Without a doubt, he will be thrilled about your match with Lord Margrave.” Aunt Beatrice stopped and turned to face her. “I cannot predict when your uncle will return to England, and you have another year until you reach your majority.”

  “I do not relish a long betrothal, Auntie, but there is nothing to be done about it. I require his permission to marry.”

  “Only if you remain in England.” Aunt Beatrice captured Sophia’s cheeks between her gloved hands; her eyes sparkled. “Let’s not return to London. Gretna Green is not so far away that we could not reach it in a week. An elopement would be so very exciting.”

  Her aunt’s suggestion was tempting, but Sophia’s pragmatic side had always been stronger than her whimsical one. “Do you recall how tired you were after our two-day journey? I will not ask you to spend a week in a carriage. When we leave here, we will return to Hartland Manor to await Uncle Charles’s return. It is for the best.”

  Aunt Beatrice grunted in disapproval and dropped her hands to her sides. “You are not asking anything of me, and I could bear the travel to see you happily settled like your sister. It would do my heart good.”

  “I know it would make you happy. You have always wanted what was best for my sisters and me, and we think it is best to keep you tiptop. After all, who will dole out childrearing advice if you are not here to do it?”

  “Bah!” Aunt Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You think I do not recognize your tricks, Sophia Anastasia Marietta Jane, but there is nothing wrong with my mind.”

  “I am well aware, Auntie, and I learned all my tricks from you. What a splendid teacher I had.” Sophia hooked her arm with her great-aunt’s and led her toward the pond. “Shall we look for toads along the shore?”

  As Sophia hoped, the mention of toads reminded Aunt Beatrice of days gone by when her niece and nephew—Sophia’s mother and Uncle Charles—hunted tadpoles and dug along the muddy creek bank at home. Sophia loved hearing stories of her mother’s childhood, and Auntie was the only person left who recalled the details that brought Sophia’s mother back to life.

  Reminiscing served two purposes. It was entertaining for both, and it distracted Aunt Beatrice from realizing they were simply strolling back and forth along the shoreline. With the house in full view, Sophia felt less skittish about walking without Crispin.

  A steady breeze shivered the leaves of an old oak. The tree stood sentry at the pond’s edge, stretching its knotty limbs toward the water as if intending to scoop some with its spindly fingers. A birdsong came from somewhere above them.

  “The countryside is beautiful,” Sophia murmured.

  Aunt Beatrice hummed in agreement.

  Nestled among the reeds, a rowboat lay bow up on the bank. It was weathered, paint-chipped, and cocked to one side as if it had crawled ashore and flopped down for a long nap. Ripples stirred the pond’s surface. It was alive, perpetually in motion.

  Aunt Beatrice pulled her shawl around her shoulders and rubbed her wrist across the tip of her nose.

  “Are you growing chilled?” Although Sophia was comfortable, her aunt didn’t have much flesh on her to keep her warm. “Perhaps we should return to the house.”

  Her aunt did not protest when Sophia changed their course and led her in the direction of the front drive where their walk had begun. As they rounded the corner of the boxy structure, two riders appeared on the horizon. Sophia’s heart hesitated, stumbling against her breastbone.

  They’ve found us. Her fingers tightened on her aunt’s arm.

  “We need to go.” She quickened her step, urging Aunt Beatrice to hurry. Her aunt was spry and had no trouble keeping pace. That did not stop her from complaining, however.

  “What has gotten into you, Sophia? You are like a hound with its tail on fire.”

  “Someone is coming up the lane,” she said, injecting as much cheerfulness as she could into her voice. “Lieutenant Locke must be expecting visitors. We should let him know they are arriving.”

  Aunt Beatrice pulled free of Sophia’s hold and turned to gaze down the lane. “I do not see anything. Is it a carriage?”

  “It is two men on horseback.” Sophia reached for her aunt’s arm, but Aunt Beatrice twisted away.

  “You are acting strange. Since Lieutenant Locke is occupied, we should greet his guests.”

  “Come inside, Auntie”—Sophia snagged her around the shoulders and guided her toward the front door—“before you catch a chill. We will greet the guests when they arrive at the door.”

  “Yes, that does make more sense.” Aunt Beatrice stopped resisting and returned to the safety of the house.

  The housekeeper must have heard the door closing, because she walked into the foyer with a quizzical lift of her eyebrows. “You were outside, ma’am? I did not hear you leave the house.”

  “And why should you?” Aunt Beatrice asked with an edge of irritation. “We are not in the habit of creating a racket wherever we go.”

  Sophia smiled to soften her aunt’s words and closed the parasol. “Two men are approaching the house. Will you inform the lieutenant?”

  Mrs. Poindexter nodded once and bustled toward the back of the house. She was gone only a moment before Crispin and Lieutenant Locke stormed the foyer.

  Aunt Beatrice startled and clutched her chest. “Lord almighty!”

  “Take your aunt to Mr. Ness’s study,” Crispin said. “Do not leave until I come for you.”

  Sophia did as he ordered, grateful Aunt Beatrice didn’t kick up a fuss.

  “What is all this commotion? I have never seen anyone so agitated over guests. One might think it is God himself arriving by chariot.”

  Sophia shrugged. “It must be someone of importance, although it is hard to compete with the Almighty.”

  She and Aunt Beatrice were not kept in suspense long. When Crispin came to collect them, the Duke of Stanhurst accompanied him.

  “That is rather a letdown,” Aunt Beatrice mumbled.

  Sophia came forward to greet the duke. “How unexpected to see you here, Your Grace. Do you know Mr. and Mrs. Ness?”

  Stanhurst placed a brief kiss on her glove. “I have come to see Lord Margrave. His valet said I would find him here on holi
day.”

  “Kane acted as his guide,” Crispin explained. “You spotted the two of them on horseback. They are alone.”

  Something was amiss, but Crispin’s calm demeanor eased her worries.

  “Your Grace, may I present my great-aunt, Beatrice Allred?” she asked the duke.

  “I would be delighted.” As Stanhurst exchanged pleasantries with her aunt, Lieutenant Locke entered the study.

  “A room is being prepared for you, Your Grace.”

  “Oh?” Stanhurst swung his head toward the doorway. “There is no need to trouble your staff. I do not intend to stay. I only wish for a brief word with the viscount.”

  Lieutenant Locke widened his stance, filling the doorway with his muscular form. “I insist you stay as our guest.” Clearly, it was not a request.

  The duke’s mouth opened briefly before he snapped it shut. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  Aunt Beatrice cleared her throat. “Well, gentlemen. It seems you have business to settle, and I have a baby blanket in my chambers that will not knit itself. If you will excuse me...”

  Lieutenant Locke stepped aside to allow Aunt Beatrice to exit the room.

  Crispin cocked his head, meeting Sophia’s gaze. “A baby blanket?”

  “It is a gift for my sister and her new husband,” Sophia said.

  “Regina is expecting?”

  “She is not.” Her laugh was breathy. “At least, she was not when she left on her honeymoon.”

  His brows sank low over his hazel eyes, but he didn’t question her further.

  She offered a strained smile to the other gentlemen in the room. “I believe I will follow in my aunt’s footsteps and allow you privacy.” She curtsied to the duke. “Good day, sir.”

  Crispin’s valet was standing in the foyer with his hat in hand when she passed through on her way to the staircase. “Did Lord Margrave leave you holding your hat?”

  The dark haired valet grinned, deepening the divot in his cheek. “I have been ordered to consider what might have happened if Stanhurst and I had been followed.”