Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

  “Puddles loiters in the kitchen during dinner.”

  He smiled at that. “I delayed my arrival to avoid Celeste as long as possible.”

  “So did I.”

  “Shall we show the old witch a united front?” Ross asked, offering her his arm.

  “Our arriving together may irritate your stepmother,” Blaze said, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm.

  “I consider that an added benefit.”

  “And so do I.”

  Ross escorted her down the hallway. “This dinner could prove interesting.”

  “Forget interesting,” Blaze said. “You hold the witch down while I drive a stake through her heart.”

  Ross grinned at her. “Yer very bloodthirsty, but I admire that trait.”

  Arm in arm, Ross and Blaze walked into the drawing room and strolled across the Persian carpet. Sipping sherry, the two older couples sat in front of the white marble hearth.

  “Here comes the winning team,” the Duke of Inverary said, drawing attention to them.

  “They make a spectacular team,” the Duchess of Inverary said. “Don’t you agree, Celeste?”

  Uh-oh. Her stepmother was baiting the witch.

  Blaze looked at the two duchesses, the women’s diamonds nearly blinding her. “Their brilliance dazzles the eye,” she whispered, leaning close to the marquis. “Both are wearing every diamond they own.”

  Ross chuckled, a husky sound that conspired with his mountain heather scent to send the butterflies in her belly winging into flight. “I’m thankful they arena wearin’ furs,” he said, “lest ye recruit me to dig graves.”

  Blaze giggled, drawing different reactions from the two couples. Their fathers looked pleased, and her stepmother beamed her approval. The Duchess of Kilchurn’s stare was positively venomous.

  The Duke of Kilchurn stood and bowed over her hand. “Congratulations, my dear.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but your son deserves the honor,” Blaze said. “Pegasus could not have won without his expertise.”

  “Call us James and Celeste,” Kilchurn said, and looked at Ross. “Good job, son.”

  Blaze glanced at the Duchess of Kilchurn. The blonde gave her a stiff smile.

  “Blaze is the image of Bedelia,” Kilchurn said to her father.

  “I fear we may hear Sainted Bedelia stories all evening,” Celeste MacArthur said.

  “I never tire of Bedelia’s adventures,” Roxanne Campbell said.

  The Duke of Inverary passed Ross a glass of sherry. “Blaze, would you like a drop of sherry?”

  “Winning The Craven will not change my dislike of spirits,” she refused.

  “Where are your other stepdaughters?” Celeste asked.

  “Raven and Alexander are dining with his grandfather, the Duke of Essex,” her stepmother answered. “Bliss, Serena, and Sophia are dining with their married sisters. Both married Kazanov princes last year.”

  “You’ve done well by them,” Celeste said. “Two princes and a future duke.”

  “I want everyone as happily married as I,” the Duchess of Inverary said. “I heard several more Kazanov princes may be visiting within the year. Only Princes Lykos and Gunter have seen Prince Drako’s and Princess Katerina’s one-year-old son. Drako is the oldest of twelve, you know.”

  “Their son was born less than nine months after their marriage,” the Duchess of Kilchurn said, her expression pinched.

  Roxanne Campbell gave her a dimpled smile. “I say, all’s well that ends well.”

  “Dearest, I believe Shakespeare said that first,” the Duke of Inverary interjected.

  His wife smiled at him. “Even the great bard could not manage two marriages of the decade within the same year.”

  “What a unique butterfly hair clasp and bracelet,” Celeste said, drawing Blaze’s attention. “Did Princess Katerina design them?”

  Blaze gestured to Gabrielle Flambeau’s portrait. “The butterflies belonged to my mother.”

  “I see.” The Duchess of Kilchurn frowned in obvious disapproval.

  Blaze clenched her hands into fists, her fingers itching to strike the woman. She wished society did not disapprove of ladies brawling.

  “Gabrielle Flambeau was a lovely woman,” the Duchess of Inverary said, smoothing over the awkward silence. “Here is Tinker, signaling us to dinner.”

  The Duchess of Inverary escorted the Duke of Kilchurn down the stairs to the dining room while the Duke of Inverary partnered his friend’s wife. Ross and Blaze lagged behind the foursome.

  “My stepmother definitely dislikes yours,” Blaze whispered.

  “Nobody likes Celeste except her children.”

  “Your father must love her.”

  “Celeste canna compare to my mother,” Ross said. “I suspect my father harbors regrets.”

  The Duke and Duchess of Inverary took their usual seats at the ends of the mahogany table. The Duke of Kilchurn and his son sat on either side of their hostess. The Duchess of Kilchurn sat directly across the table from Blaze.

  Standing near the sideboard, Tinker supervised the footmen. The majordomo served the wine to all but Blaze.

  Dinner’s first course arrived, tomato soup with a swirl of cream and chopped green herbs. Blaze felt relieved. No meat, no fish, no poultry.

  Her father raised his wine glass in a toast. “Congratulations to Blaze, who believed in her horse when no one else did.”

  All raised their glasses in salute. Blaze lifted her glass of lemon barley water and saluted the marquis.

  “You do not care for wine?” the Duchess of Kilchurn asked her.

  “I dislike spirits, Celeste.” Blaze smiled at the Duke of Kilchurn, who had invited her to use their first names. His wife, however, did not appear pleased by the informality.

  “If you want to get along in Society,” the Duchess of Kilchurn told her, “you must develop a taste for champagne.”

  “Society will accept me as I am,” Blaze said, lifting her spoon to taste the soup, “for I will never change myself to please others.”

  “My dearest Blaze possesses an attitude that sets trends,” Roxanne Campbell interjected.

  “The girl is emulating you.”

  Her stepmother’s dimpled smile appeared. “I like to think so.”

  Once they’d finished the soup, two footmen removed their bowls. Tinker gestured two other footmen to begin serving dinner’s second course.

  Blaze hoped duck did not appear on the evening’s menu. If it did, she prayed the mother was not a bone sucker like her son. Instinct told her that the bone sucker had learned the disgusting habit from his mother.

  Baked Dover sole appeared on the table. Asparagus gratin, dressed cucumbers, and mushroom caps stewed in butter accompanied the fish.

  “Thank you,” Blaze said, when the majordomo delivered her plate without fish.

  Tinker gave her a conspiratorial smile. “You are very welcome, Miss Blaze.”

  “Did you wager on today’s race?”

  “I did,” Tinker answered, “and my faith in your ability was handsomely rewarded.”

  Blaze smiled at the older man. “I made a small fortune, too.”

  “If you want to get along in Society,” Celeste MacArthur spoke up, “you must never converse with servants. None of the Quality behaves so casually.”

  “In this household, we do converse with our employees,” the Duchess of Inverary corrected the other woman. “We consider Tinker one of the family.”

  “How generous.” Celeste turned her attention on Blaze again. “You do not care for fish?”

  “The lass lives on fruits and vegetables and grains,” Ross answered. “Eating meat, fish, and poultry gives her the hives.”

  Celeste MacArthur ignored her stepson. “Gentlemen do not marry finicky women.”

  The Duke of Inverary cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Ross, tell us how you broke Pegasus of the balking.”

  “Sorry, Yer Grace, but that’s our secret.” R
oss gave Blaze a sidelong smile.

  “Chadwick comes out of mourning this week,” Celeste told the Duchess of Inverary. “I do hope you will include him in the Jockey Club Ball. Dirk and he own several thoroughbreds together.”

  “Of course, Chadwick must attend,” Roxanne Campbell replied. “Chadwick is too handsome a widower to remain unmarried for long. We must find him an heiress.”

  Blaze had no idea to whom the women were referring. She arched a questioning brow at the marquis.

  “Squire Chadwick Simmons is Celeste’s son and Dirk’s half-brother,” Ross explained, reaching for his wine glass.

  How many men had Celeste MacArthur managed to marry? Blaze doubted her stepmother wanted a mere squire walking through her door. On the other hand, Chadwick was the Duke of Kilchurn’s stepson.

  The footmen served roasted beef accompanied by crispy, roasted potatoes and horseradish sauce. Tinker set a vegetable and bean pie in front of her.

  Blaze glanced across the table and caught Celeste MacArthur watching her, an expression of hatred in her green gaze. In response, she gave the woman her most infuriatingly serene smile.

  “Papa, those violent entertainments between races is shameful,” Blaze said. “Could you persuade the Jockey Club to ban cockfights?”

  “Yer daughter sounds like Bedelia,” the Duke of Kilchurn said, smiling. “Bedelia frowned upon dicing and whatnot.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “I suppose this begins the Bedelia stories.”

  The Duke of Inverary gave his daughter an indulgent smile. “The cockfights keep the ruffians out of trouble.”

  “Scheduling more races with less time between them could solve that problem,” Blaze suggested. “The owners will make more money if you add races.”

  “What an outstandin’ idea,” the Duke of Kilchurn said. “The Club should have thought of this long before now.”

  Duke Magnus nodded at his friend. “We’ll float the idea at the next meeting.”

  “Papa, do you employ carpenters on staff?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I need a cart built to carry Pegasus to Epsom Downs and Doncaster,” Blaze answered. “Peg will arrive less tired than the other thoroughbreds.”

  “You are drunk with today’s success,” her father said, a smile on his lips. “We’ve always walked the horses from one track to another.”

  “Always does not mean forever,” she argued.

  “Do you approve of her owning a horse?” the Duchess of Kilchurn asked, looking down the table at her stepmother.

  “I can see no harm in her hobby,” Roxanne Campbell answered.

  Her stepmother was defending her? That was akin to a miracle.

  “The cart idea has merit,” Ross was saying. “I’m goin’ to investigate the possibility.”

  “The horses may require special training getting in and out of the cart,” Magnus Campbell said, “but I suppose it could work.”

  “Papa?”

  Her father looked at her, his dark gaze warning her to beware. “What now?”

  “When will Juno be visiting the breeding barn?” Blaze heard the Duchess of Kilchurn gasp while Ross and his father chuckled.

  “Blaze, darling, that particular topic is unseemly for the dinner table,” her stepmother said.

  “Apologies.” Blaze glanced at their guests and then looked at her father. “Papa?”

  “You don’t trust me?” her father asked.

  “I trust you,” she answered, “but this is business.”

  “Business is discussed in the office.” Her stepmother’s voice held a warning note.

  Blaze ignored her. “Papa?”

  The Duke of Inverary set his fork on the plate. “As promised, Juno will visit the barn in a couple of days.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Blaze was silent for a long moment. Then she cleared her throat and added, “The owner customarily witnesses the…the…the deed.”

  The Duchess of Kilchurn gasped again. The Duchess of Inverary joined her this time.

  “You will witness nothing,” her father said, his tone brooking no disobedience. “Maidens do not belong there.”

  “I will act as the witness,” Ross said, laughter lurking in his voice.

  Blaze acquiesced with reluctance. “Very well, the marquis will represent me.”

  Ross leaned close, saying, “We’ll forgo the drawing room in favor of visiting Pegasus.”

  Blaze looked at him and nodded. She would have agreed to almost anything to escape Celeste MacArthur’s basilisk stare as well as her stepmother’s disapproval.

  Once dinner ended, the two older couples retired to the drawing room. Once they’d disappeared up the stairs, Ross said, “Let’s take yer dog along for the walk.”

  “I’ll get Puddles.”

  “Send a servant.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Blaze closed her eyes and pictured the mastiff in her mind. Puddles, come foyer. She opened her eyes. “He will be here in a moment.”

  Ross heard the thud of paws running down the stairs, and then the dog appeared. “You communicated long distance,” he said, awed accusation in his voice.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What is the delay with Pegasus?”

  Blaze shrugged, her cheeks pinkening. “I’ve known Puddles longer than Pegasus.”

  She’s lying.

  Ross stared at her for a long moment, reddening her complexion even more. God’s balls, she was easier to read than an open book. The girl blushed whenever she lied or heard a sexual reference.

  Why would Blaze lie? She must know Rooney and Pegasus needed days, if not weeks, of practicing together. He would pretend to believe her for a few days. After all, there were three weeks before the next race.

  “The moon is full so we dinna need a lantern,” Ross said, ushering her toward the door. “How long have ye known Puddles?”

  Her blush began to fade. “I’ve owned Puddles for several years.”

  They stepped into a mild April evening and strolled down the path to the stables. The night shrouded them like a blanket, but slivers of moonlight guided their way. All was eerily silent except for an owl, hooting nearby as it readied for its nightly hunt.

  “The team will take tomorrow off,” Ross said, “unless ye connect with the filly.”

  “I will tell you the moment I connect with Peg.”

  Ross wished he could see her complexion more clearly. He’d wager his last shilling she was blushing.

  “Tell me about your stepmother,” Blaze said.

  “Celeste Chadwick was a vicar’s daughter who married a wealthy merchant.” Ross knew Blaze had purposely changed the subject from distance communication. “She and Merchant Simmons had one son, Squire Chadwick Simmons. When he died—”

  “What killed him?” Blaze interrupted.

  “He stopped breathin’,” Ross answered. “Then Celeste married the Earl of Boston and bore him two children, Dirk and Amanda.”

  “I suppose the earl stopped breathing, too.”

  Ross chuckled. “Celeste became a close acquaintance—I willna say true friend—of my mother. After my mother died, Celeste married my father and became a duchess.”

  “Celeste rose from obscure origins to titled greatness,” Blaze said. “You’ve met Squire Chadwick Simmons?”

  “Chad seems a decent sort,” Ross told her. “His wife and baby did not survive the birthin’.”

  “How sad.” Blaze was silent for a brief moment. “Your father should beware since Celeste has buried two husbands.”

  “She’ll never harm my father,” Ross said. “The title, the lands, and the money pass to me. My closest male kin, the Duke of Inverary, inherits if I die without issue.”

  Distant voices, an unusual occurrence at that hour, disturbed their conversation. The closer they got to the stables, the louder the voices sounded.

  “Are the stablehands celebrating Peg’s victory?” Blaze asked him.

  “They would’ve gone into town,” Ross answ
ered.

  A dozen lanterns lit the stableyard. The hands had congregated into small groups.

  Something was wrong. And then Bobby Bender walked out of the filly’s stable. Spying them, the trainer crossed the yard, but Blaze brushed past him to get to her horse, her dog two steps behind.

  “We had an intruder,” Bender said, “but he escaped.”

  Ross raised his brows. “Any damage?”

  “Pegasus is fine,” the trainer answered, “but her decisive win today angered someone.”

  “I want Peg guarded at all times,” Ross instructed the man. “Only Rooney gives Peg her daily workout.”

  “Doesn’t the Duke of Inverary own these stables?” Bender asked, his tone dry.

  Ross glanced toward the stable’s open doors. “Pegasus is my responsibility.”

  “As is the filly’s owner,” Bender said, smiling. “I’m on my way to alert His Grace.”

  Ross nodded and walked into the stable. The familiar scents of musky horse and sweet hay tickled his nose, and the light from lanterns cast eerie shadows on the walls.

  Blaze was stroking the filly’s face. Like sentinels, Rooney and Puddles stood beside her.

  “Bender said Peg is fine,” Ross told her.

  Blaze looked at him. “Will you tell my parents I’m sleeping here?”

  “Sorry, darlin’, ye’ll sleep in yer own bed.”

  “I’ll sleep here,” Rooney told her. “I’ve a cot in the last stall.”

  “Puddles will guard you.”

  “I want no one near this filly,” Ross instructed the jockey. “Ye give her the daily workout.”

  Blaze crouched in front of her dog and stared into its eyes. When she stood, Puddles walked into the empty stall opposite the filly’s and curled up on a bale of hay.

  Rooney grinned. “I’ll move my cot into the dog’s stall.”

  “We’ll meet for practice the day after tomorrow,” Ross told him. “I’ve a feelin’ Blaze will distance communicate by then.”

  Ross and Blaze left the stable and started down the path. Instead of returning to the house, they strolled across the lawns in the direction of the gazebo.

  “Whoever stabbed Charlie wanted to hurt Peg,” Blaze said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

  “Dinna fret aboot the filly.” Ross put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. “If necessary, I’ll sleep in the stable for the whole racin’ season.”