The Forgotten Marquess

by Jane Charles

  “I thank you.” As the four had intentionally chosen not to marry, though they had plenty of opportunities, the ton had been quite curious, and often cruel, and Tristan had defended their choice to be independent women. Of course, he also never believed that it would be a permanent decision and that eventually they’d each be swept up in love. Apparently, they’d never been stricken by Cupid’s bow.

  Tristan poured himself a brandy and then joined the women when he noticed that they were not drinking tea, but wine. “Eldridge had no intention of allowing me out of a betrothal even though all his daughter and I shared was a kiss and she had been the one to instigate it.” He took a drink. “I have a sennight to declare my wife dead. Unfortunately, my solicitor is in Penzance and I know of no one here to get it done. The only gentleman I now of is off to Scotland.” Not that Tristan knew Jordan Trent all that well, having only met him once, when they delivered the package meant for his family, but Tristan trusted him far more than he did Eldridge.

  “What of His Grace?” Sophia asked. “I’m certain Eldridge has a number of men at his disposal.”

  “If Elaina needs to be declared dead, then I’ll see to it myself.” His stomach tightened at the very idea. Tristan had never given up hope. In his mind, he knew that it was impossible for her to have survived, but a small spark still burned with hope that she’d return. The idea of dousing it for good brought a physical ache to his body. He wasn’t ready to let go. He might not ever be ready.

  “I have an excellent solicitor,” Lady Victoria announced. “Mr. Demetrius Valentine. I’m happy to give you his direction and send word to expect you.”

  “You have a solicitor?” She and her sister were quite wealthy, having come into their inheritance once they’d obtained their majority. However, their brother was the Earl of Norbright and Tristan had assumed the earl still managed his sisters’ funds.

  Lady Victoria sniffed as if offended. “It is necessary that I employ a solicitor as well as a man of business for the successful operation of Westbrook House.”

  “What is Westbrook House?” Tristan had never heard of the place but assumed it was a charity of some kind.

  “A foundling home of sorts,” Lady Victoria answered. “For orphans and women who might find themselves in need of food, clothing, a place to sleep and to save them from being reduced to an, um, immoral manner in which to acquire such necessities.”

  “It’s a valuable organization, Tristan,” Sophia insisted. “I plan on touring it tomorrow. You really must join us as Westbrook House is always in need of contributions.

  His philanthropic donations had been absent of late. He’d not given anything to anyone since Elaina disappeared. She would have supported a home for orphans and women who didn’t wish to become prostitutes. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

  “We are currently in need of medical supplies and medicines,” Lady Olivia offered.

  “You do not have a physician?” Tristan asked. Though his mind was heavy with his future, this discussion of Westbrook House was a welcome distraction.

  “One comes when I deem it is necessary,” Lady Olivia answered.

  He lifted an eyebrow. When she deemed it was necessary?

  “Usually I treat the children and women, until it’s gone beyond my expertise.”

  “Are you a physician, Lady Olivia?” Certainly, that was not possible.

  “Unfortunately, no,” she took a drink of her wine. “As you are aware, as a woman, I am not allowed such a title or profession. Instead, I am a midwife, nurse and herbalist. However, I can read the medical journals as well as any man.” A smiled pulled at her lips. “And, as we are sharing secrets, I have my own confession.”

  “What would that be, Lady Olivia,” Tristan asked, though he couldn’t imagine that it was scandalous since despite the earlier gossip and not marrying, her reputation was unsullied.

  “I’ve disguised myself as a male on more than one occasion to attend lectures at the Royal Society of Medicine and subscribe to their journals.”

  All Tristan could do was stare at her. Given how the five had been as girls when they were still away at school, he wasn’t surprised in the least that Lady Olivia would disguise herself. What he found astounding was her access in obtaining medical journals. “They send them to you?”

  She blew out a sigh. “They send them to my brother, and he forwards them on to me.”

  “Your brother, Norbright, approves?” To his knowledge, the twins were the Earl’s only siblings.

  “He’d prefer we’d marry, of course,” Lady Victoria admitted. “However, he understands that neither one of us will do so and knows that we are perfectly capable of making our own decisions without a man’s influence.”

  When did the five of them become so independent and forward thinking? Had Sophia not been compromised by Rafe, would his sister be an independent woman as well? Where would her passions have led her? No doubt she would have attempted to become a spy since she’d always been fascinated with their father’s work with the Home Office.

  Why couldn’t Lady Jillian be an independent-minded woman? Then he’d not be burdened with her as an unwanted wife for the rest of his life.

  Yet, he had married an independent and stubborn woman, and as much as Tristian had loved Elaina, and still did, her convictions often led to numerous arguments. At least with Lady Jillian he’d not need to worry about her wanting to go off somewhere but she would be content to sit and stitch or play music or perhaps enjoy the gardens. Whatever her enjoyments turned out to be, at least his life would be peaceful.

  Miserable, but peaceful.

  “Elaina, I thought I might find you out here.”

  Elaina glanced up from the book she had been reading and into the kind, chocolate brown eyes of Mr. Clive Abbott. “Good afternoon. Would you care to join me?”

  “There is no other reason to be here if that wasn’t my intention.” He grinned and settled down across from her.

  She adored Clive, but Elaina was careful in controlling her emotions. She wasn’t in any position to care for anyone other than in friendship.

  “I assume you are free for the day?”

  Elaina nearly snorted. “I believe I’ve been free since this morning.” After Elaina had been found unconscious on the beach, she’d been taken to the home of Colonel and Rebecca Pettigrew. They’d seen to her care until she’d fully recovered, with the exception of her memory. Once she was on her feet, up and about, they quickly discovered that Elaina had no useful skills. She couldn’t cook, had no idea how one went about cleaning, nor how to do laundry and it was quickly decided that she’d been a woman of privilege. This was further supported by the fact that she was knowledgeable of all manner of subjects, including the sciences, as if she’d received an education almost equal to that of a gentleman and could converse on all manner of topics except save one: Herself! Her life was a complete blank as if she hadn’t existed before she’d woken three years ago.

  At a loss for what to do, Rebecca had decided to keep her on as a companion.

  Rebecca didn’t need a companion, but no matter how much Elaina argued that she should find a position within another household, such as a maid, Rebecca would first laugh and then refuse to let Elaina leave. Of course, nobody could really force Elaina to remain, but there were few options available, so she stayed.

  She certainly couldn’t complain, as her duties were few, which included accompanying Rebecca into town, writing correspondence, helping with household accounts and simply being a friend.

  “I took these from my gardens, though they don’t match your beauty.” He held out a small bouquet of summer flowers.

  “Thank you, Clive, but you really shouldn’t bring me flowers.”

  “I’d give you more if you’d allow me to.”

  He’d proposed marriage three times and as much as Elaina tried to discourage his suit, Clive wouldn’t relent. Of course, he also knew that he wasn’t being rejected. Circumstances made it impossible fo
r her to give him any consideration. “You know I’m not free.”

  “I know no such thing.”

  In truth, neither did she, except Elaina did believe that she was married, or had been. Not that she had any memory of a husband.

  Elaina glanced at her hand. That indent had disappeared, there had been a very clear circle about her finger when she first washed up on shore, as if she’d worn a ring on that finger for years, which led everyone to surmise that she was indeed married.

  “Shall we revisit the possibilities?” he asked.

  “We know what they are.” She was painfully aware of what might have happened, but they had no evidence to support any theory.

  “We also may come up other scenarios.”

  They’d already considered every possibility, but Elaina knew from experience that he’d not stop until he’d convinced Elaina that she was not only free to be courted but free to marry as well.

  “I have no doubt that you were aristocracy in either France or England.”

  She hitched an eyebrow.

  “You behave too much as a lady to have been anything else,” he insisted.

  Which was the general consensus of anyone who met her.

  “Ladies do not travel on merchant ships,” she reminded him.

  “She does if she is a widow and no longer has funds and needs to travel.”

  Elaina snorted. “It isn’t a very exciting history.”

  “Perhaps not a widow, but you were traveling with your husband, and he was in hiding, running from something. But, what would he have been running from?”

  They’d played this game before. What if…

  “He was an English spy and Napoleon’s ministry of police discovered him,” she decided.

  “If he was an English spy, why would he have had his wife with him?” Clive countered.

  “I wasn’t his wife, but a spy as well and only playing his wife. Or, perhaps my disguise was that of a widow so that I could seek information.”

  Clive reached forward and took Elaina’s hands. “It’s possible you weren’t married at all.”

  This time she laughed. “Even though my past is a blank canvas, I don’t think I was a spy.” Though, if she had been, Elaina truly wished she could remember since her life would have been exciting and dangerous.

  “Come.” He stood and held out his hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to know if you can shoot a gun.”

  “I’m quite certain that I cannot.”

  “We’ll never know until we try.” And before she could object, Clive pulled her from her seat and into the house, calling for Colonel Pettigrew.

  “He is at Fort Essex,” Rebecca answered, coming into the parlor.

  “Do you know where he keeps his guns?”

  Rebecca blinked at him. “Why do you wish for a gun?”

  “To see if Elaina knows how to load one and if she can shoot.”

  “Why?” Rebecca asked, clearly confused.

  Clive quickly explained about the possibility of Elaina being a spy. At first Rebecca covered her mouth to hide her shock, then she snorted and could no longer hold in her laughter.

  “I’m not certain if I should be insulted,” Elaina complained.

  “By all means, shall we find one of my husband’s guns?”

  A short time later she presented a case of matching dueling pistols. “I don’t believe he’s ever had cause to use these. However, he believes that all gentlemen should own a pair.”

  “Yes, they should,” Clive agreed then presented the case to Elaina. “Choose a pistol.”

  She just looked at them. “Why me?”

  “I’ve issued the challenge; you have the choice of weapon.”

  “They look the same.”

  “Well, they are a pair,” Clive stated.

  With a shrug, Elaina picked up one, the weight heavy in her hands. “Now what do I do?”

  Instead of instructing her, Clive shook his head and retrieved the pistol and put it back in the case. “You were not a spy. Had you been, you would have known how to hold the pistol.”

  “It was a bit farfetched.” Rebecca took the case from him.

  “I suppose, but until I can prove to Elaina that she is free to marry, she won’t even consider my proposal.”

  At that Rebecca hitched an eyebrow. She’d been encouraging Elaina to accept. Rebecca believed that had Elaina been married, her husband would have been on the ship with her and in that case, had died when the ship sank, otherwise he would have come looking for her. When Elaina pointed out that it was possible her husband might not have been on the ship, Rebecca and the Colonel argued that it wasn’t possible that a husband would allow his wife to travel alone, across the Channel and especially on a merchant ship during a time of war.

  Of course, none of the arguing did any good, as there was no proof for any of the theories.

  “Would you care to join us for tea, Mr. Abbott?”

  “No thank you, Mrs. Pettigrew. I do need to return to the docks.” He turned to Elaina. “Would you see me out?”

  “Of course.”

  Together they walked outside, and he paused, looking down at her. “I will not stop, Elaina.”

  “I know.”

  “I can make you happy and you’ll never want for anything.”

  “Until I have proof one way or the other, I cannot make a commitment to you.”

  “Then think on this.” And before she could object, he bent and placed his lips against hers. Elaina sucked in a breath and tentatively kissed him back.

  It was quite pleasant.

  “You could wait your entire life for answers, and they may not come. Wouldn’t you rather have someone by your side instead of growing old alone?”

  Chapter 3

  Tristan glanced across the carriage to his new bride and his stomach tightened and churned as it had done so often since he’d declared Elaina dead. Further, the rocking of the carriage did little to ease his discomfort and Tristan feared he might cast up his accounts at any moment.

  This did not bode well for his future. At least not the future that he’d now share with Lady Jillian, whom he’d married not six hours earlier. As soon as the vows had been spoken, they’d embarked on their journey to take them back to Cornwall, to his home, and to where his children would be introduced to their new mother.

  Nausea rose, and Tristan placed a hand over his mouth as he pounded on top of the carriage. The wheels had barely come to a stop before he was pushing on the door and rushing to the side of the road where he tossed up his accounts.

  For the longest moment he knelt, staring down and trying to gather his breath.

  His marriage was a monumental mistake, but he was stuck for good. One did not abandon the daughter of the Duke of Eldridge.

  Tristan was not one to become ill from stressful or unpleasant situations, nor did he become ill when traveling, yet he couldn’t explain why his stomach had revolted. Worse, it threatened to do so again. He must have contracted an illness while in London because that was the only explanation for why he was kneeling at the side of the road.

  At least if this illness continued, or he claimed it continued, it would buy Tristan some time before he had to do his duty as the groom.

  His stomach tightened again, except all he did was heave.

  With any luck, he’d be able to put off consummating his marriage for as long as possible, until his body came to terms with his fate because it wouldn’t do to go to Jillian’s bed and become ill.

  It must be an illness and not the idea of bedding his wife because he’d not suffered illness at the contemplation of bedding a woman before. After Elaina had been gone for two years, Tristan had considered finding a mistress to ease his urges and had even met someone for whom he’d held a strong attraction, someone he wanted physically. He hadn’t because frankly, he didn’t wish to be responsible for another person, even for a short duration. The brothels held no appeal either. Instead, when it becam
e necessary to his comfort, he’d done what men had done for ages, and seen to the matter himself and gone about his business. So, why was the idea of being married to Lady Jillian and going to her bed so disturbing?

  Guilt!

  The word echoed through Tristan’s brain.

  He was taking another woman into his home. A replacement for his wife, when nobody could ever replace Elaina.

  She’d take up residence in Elaina’s set of rooms. Rooms that have not changed since Elaina had sailed for France because Tristan could not bring himself even to remove her clothing. Jillian would want to make the set of rooms her own, erasing what had once been Elaina.

  Time! Perhaps all he needed was time. He’d barely known Lady Jillian a month, if that, and he hadn’t been given the opportunity to become used to being betrothed before he was married. Perhaps once he came to know Jillian better, his feelings might grow, and he might finally be able to tuck Elaina away in the back recesses of his memory so that he could move forward with his new wife.

  Further, nobody knew that they’d married.

  His stomach contractions eased.

  As far as Society was concerned, Tristan and Jillian were only betrothed. As that was the case, he couldn’t risk consummating their marriage before their very public wedding for fear of getting her with child. A babe born five months after a wedding would harm her reputation far more than anything else and Tristan didn’t wish for Society to believe him so without character that he’d bed an innocent before he’d the right to do so.

  As Tristan realized that he had a reprieve—time—months before he must visit Lady Jillian’s bed, his stomach calmed, and his pulse slowed. Hopefully, in three months’ time he will have come to an acceptance and be able to move on without feeling like he was betraying Elaina. Perhaps he might even come to care for his new bride and let go of the resentment he harbored at her behavior that had landed him in this very position.

  At the sound of a carriage nearing, Tristan fished out a handkerchief, wiped his mouth and stood. Instead of passing, the carriage slowed to a stop and out stepped Scala.