‘To please me,’ he said softly. ‘You have suffered a great wrong—through no fault of me and mine, I own, but still a great wrong.’
He lifted himself a little and took her into his arms. The sensation was so sweet that Louise gave a low groan and almost surrendered to the light kisses he was favouring her cheek with until she stopped him by pulling away.
‘No, Mr Marks, you are not to do that. It was not in our bargain. We are friends, not lovers.’
‘But I want to be your friend and lover more than ever now that I know that you are my distant cousin Louise. Say that you will allow me to speak to Jackson and permit him try to settle the matter once and for all.’
Louise shook her head. ‘Mr Marks would obey me in this. Lord Angmering may do as he pleases. I cannot stop him, although I wish that I could.’
‘You break my heart,’ he whispered, but he made no attempt to take her in his arms again. She looked so desolate that all he wished to do was comfort her, and so he told her.
‘And we both know how that might end,’ she said sadly. ‘There has been enough loose folly in the Cleeve family, enough members of it not troubling about tomorrow, without our adding to it. My father, and my grandfather between them brought me to this pass. Do not let us make matters worse.’
Marcus had to acknowledge the truth of this.
He bowed his head. He could not agree to what she wished, for he thought that later she might reconsider, when the shock of telling him her sad story had worn off.
So he said nothing, merely sat quietly and companionably at her feet hoping that his mere presence might calm her, and he thought that perhaps it did for he heard her breathing change.
Louise hardly knew herself. One part of her wanted to throw herself into Marcus’s arms and forget everything she had ever lived by. In them she knew that she might find peace. But that peace would be temporary, and when the initial joy of her surrender was over she would be back from where she had started with nothing solved—and her honour surrendered.
The other part was thinking that she could not bear to confide in Jackson! The thought was horrible. She had learned early in life to trust no one and she certainly was not prepared to trust a predatory thief-taker. If she was doing him an injustice, then she would rather risk that than expose herself to the cruelly idle gossip which revelation of her true identity—whatever that was—would inevitably create.
She knew Marcus well enough to grasp that if he thought that it was in her interest to involve Jackson then he would not hesitate do so. He was plainly a man who was highly protective of anyone who was friend, family or lover. She would not plead with him, nor try to influence him, or play any of the womanly tricks to bend him to her will which she had seen other women employ.
Instead she finally said, rather drowsily, ‘Mr Marks, have you no other duties to attend to?’
He looked up into her lovely face, admiring that firm and pretty chin from below. A chin which rightly told, not only of her strength of will, but also of her relationship with the senior branch of the Cleeves.
‘None which is more important to me than caring for the woman I love. All else can wait—except…’
He did not finish and Louise said, a trifle ruefully, ‘Except that you might wish to talk to Jackson as soon as possible. I would rather you did not.’
‘It is in your interest,’ he said simply.
Louise shrugged her shoulders. ‘I find it difficult to believe that, after all these years, he could find something which my guardian could not.’
‘Your guardian was not England’s most experienced thief-taker and tracker-down of what many might think unconsidered trifles, and Jackson is.’
She had no answer to that, other than to change tack completely and ask, ‘Would you care to stay and take nuncheon, Mr Marks?’
‘With pleasure, Louise, my darling.’
So they ate nuncheon together before Marcus left, privately resolved to see Jackson immediately. It had taken all his strength for him to sit quietly opposite to her, eating and drinking when all the time what he really wanted to do was to take her in his arms and…
He told his body to behave itself and wondered if his love was feeling as calm as she looked. Did she burn for him as he burned for her? Was he over-estimating her feelings for him? He hoped not.
What he did not know was that Louise’s wish for him not to touch her owed everything to the fact that his mere touch was liable to undo her. Even the reverent kiss which he offered her hand when he left had the most powerful effect on her. If she had ever believed that she was a cold woman whom no man could affect, then meeting Marcus Angmering had taught her otherwise.
Chapter Five
L ouise was not mistaken. Marcus had every intention of setting Jackson the task of trying to prove whether or not she was really Louise Cleeve. He made up his mind to visit the man at once, but he did not need to do so. He again entered Cleeve House to find Jackson on the point of leaving.
‘You were looking for me?’ he asked.
‘No, I needed to speak to your pa again, but he is out.’
‘Again?’ queried Marcus, ‘I thought that you were finished with him.’
‘Oh, in my line of business we rarely finish with people until a crime is solved, and seeing that the Home Office are still urgent in this matter I must carry out my duty. Your pa’s secretary has arranged an appointment for me. Now, what can I do for you, m’lord?—for I can see that your interest in me is most particular.’
Marcus gave a snort of laughter. ‘Am I so transparent, or do you own a crystal ball, Jackson?’
‘Oh, a man’s manner tells many things about him, if one knows how to interpret it,’ offered Jackson. ‘No magic is needed there, m’lord.’
‘Well, there’s no denying it, I do wish to speak to you and urgently. But before I do so I must ask you to treat everything I am about to say to you with the utmost confidentiality—otherwise this interview is over.’
‘You would wish me to buy a pig in a poke, m’lord? Come, come, that is not a possibility in my line of business.’
‘Suppose half of what I am about to tell you would clear up one of your lines of enquiry in the Steepwood mystery, and that the other half has nothing to do with that—or the Home Office for that matter, what then? I am an honest man, Jackson, treat me as one and save yourself much future work.’
Jackson stared at him for some time without speaking before shrugging his shoulders and saying, ‘Very well, m’lord—I trust that you are not bamming me because if you are—why then, look out, I say!’
‘No bamming,’ said Marcus. ‘Now, come into the study, and I will tell you an interesting couple of stories.’
Jackson nodded. ‘Very well, m’lord, but be short, I am a busy man.’
Marcus, as briefly as he could, began by telling him that Madame Félice had confessed to him that she was indeed Sywell’s missing Marchioness, and also that she could prove conclusively from her shop accounts and the day-book her man of all work kept that she could not possibly have murdered her late husband, since she had been working in London at the critical time.
Jackson had fished his piece of paper out and was nodding over it while Marcus spoke. When he had finished, he said, ‘Well, m’lord, you have confirmed what I already believed: that Madame is Sywell’s widow and the friend of that pretty little fox, Miss Athene Filmer as was. They make a good pair. I already have reason to believe that Madame did not kill her husband and, furthermore, did not hire anyone else to do so.’
Marcus stared at him. ‘Then, knowing this, why were you continuing to badger her?’
‘Oh, dear, m’lord, you’re a clever fellow. You ought to know that it’s one thing for me to believe something, but until I have proof I have to continue to check and probe before going on to other lines which might lead nowhere because my belief was not correct. You follow me, I’m sure. Yes, we can write the lady off, but I would still wish her to tell me her story, not just have it a
t second-hand from you. Now, m’lord, what’s the other problem you have?’
‘Well, that concerns Madame, too,’ and Marcus recounted as plainly as he could the mystery of Louise’s birth. ‘What I would like you to do for me, if you would, is to try to trace any records which could prove, or disprove, her story.’
Jackson whistled. ‘Interesting, m’lord, most interesting. So the guardian, you say—rather, she says—could find nothing at all. What she has told you might explain, if it is the truth, something about her marriage which has always puzzled me.’
He stopped and stared hard at Marcus. ‘Think hard, m’lord—you are a man of the world—what is damned odd about the marriage, if you will pardon the expression.’
Marcus had never really thought about Sywell’s marriage to the supposed daughter of his bailiff. If so, he might have concluded that it arose from a sort of whim on the part of a man whose judgement was already faulty. He was about to tell Jackson that when something else struck him.
He said slowly, working things out as he spoke, ‘Sywell was a damned debauched rogue, and when he married was already impotent—so why did he marry her at all? He may have been a rogue but he wasn’t a fool. He always looked after his own interests and be damned to everyone else. One might have spoken of it as softening of the brain, but are you thinking that there was more to it than that?’
‘Aye, m’lord. You have just told me that Madame might be a Cleeve, part of the family which Sywell had spent his life destroying. Think, m’lord, think. Hanslope might have given her secret away without meaning to, to Sywell himself or to his creature and by-blow, Burneck, who kept watch on everything for his master if he is to be believed. So, if the girl is a Cleeve, what a splendid joke it would be to marry her, in order to gloat over having a hold over yet another member of the family. What, too, if he knew of, or had acquired, evidence that would prove her identity? Imagine his delight in tormenting and maltreating her while he hugged that knowledge to him? Oh, yes, that marriage has always puzzled me—and I believe that I may have lighted on a possible explanation of its mystery.’
‘It’s a bit of a leap in logic,’ said Marcus thoughtfully, ‘but it jibes with what we know of Sywell.’
‘Aye, that it does, and think, there may still be evidence in existence. Oh, yes, m’lord, I’ll take on your commission. I’ve wanted to have another go at Burneck, the man’s nearly as big an offence against nature as his late master, that he is. If I do find anything it won’t solve Sywell’s murder, but I believe I’m getting near to doing that as well.’
‘And you will keep what I have told you confidential—about Madame being Sywell’s widow?’
‘Oh, indeed, she’s out of the reckoning now, no need to put the poor lady into the way of more trouble.’
‘Indeed,’ said Marcus in a heartfelt voice. ‘Her life has been one long trouble, it is time that she had some happiness in it, some relief from perpetual worry. Once she has told you her story, and you are happy with it, I would like you to inform her, if you would, that you will keep her secret and will not need to trouble her again.’
‘Very well, m’lord. Leave matters to me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marcus, shaking him by the hand but wondering wryly what Louise was going to think of him for having spoken to Jackson after all—even if the result was going to be that she was no longer suspected of having murdered Sywell. Perhaps she would forgive him when he told her that Jackson had agreed to try to trace the evidence that would bring her out of the shadows.
The only trouble was that if she were a Cleeve then his continual offers to make her his mistress must have seemed a gross insult to her, and he could scarcely continue to chase after that hare. On the other hand, and Marcus gave a slow grin at the mere idea: Why not make her my wife? After all, even before I knew that she was a Cleeve I was toying with the notion of offering for her.
I should lose my bet with Jack and look a boastful fool into the bargain—but what of that: I should be uniting the two branches of the family and gaining myself a nonpareil as well. Few women could have survived such a childhood and on top of that have managed to make themselves a tidy little fortune as well.
Yes, as soon as all this is safely behind us I shall make an offer for her, and settle down at last. The prospect so entranced him that walking upstairs he allowed the Two Neds to halloo by him without even noticing that they were there.
‘Speak to Jackson again?’ exclaimed Louise. ‘But why? You have told him everything about me which concerns him.’
‘He has his duty to do,’ explained Marcus. ‘What I told him was hearsay—yours will be direct evidence of which he can take due note.’
‘And he will make nothing public, you say—no tattling to anyone of who Madame Félice really is.’
‘He agreed to that, but my darling, you do realise that if he proves beyond a doubt that you are legally my cousin Rupert’s daughter, that will inevitably have to be made known if you are to resume your true name.’
Louise shuddered. ‘Will this never be over? I feel that I am walking through my life looking over my shoulder at what has gone before. I want, I need, a present and a future. I scarcely know what my true name is.’
They were on their way to Chelsea’s autumn fair, not a venue where they might expect to meet anyone who knew them. Marcus was wearing his clerk’s outfit and Louise looked like her little maid on an outing and did not resemble in the slightest that elegant modiste, Madame Félice. She was wearing a simple blue and white print dress, stout black shoes, a plain straw bonnet with a blue band, and an anonymous light shawl, for London and its outlying districts were experiencing an Indian summer, and the sun was hot upon them.
‘I don’t give a farthing for what your true name is,’ Marcus declared. ‘You are my dear Louise and that is quite enough for me.’
‘But I do,’ fretted Louise. ‘After all, you have no need to worry about such things. You are Marcus Angmering, heir to that Lord of All, the Earl of Yardley, so you can afford to dismiss such matters as trifling. I, on the other hand, have no notion of whether I am legitimate or illegitimate, and I should dearly like to know which state I might claim to be. Even to be sure that I am neither a Cleeve nor legitimate would be better than not knowing whether I am fish, flesh, fowl or good red herring.’
Marcus gave a shout of laughter. ‘All my favourite foods, my darling, so even less reason for you to worry. Now smile, we are on our way to enjoy ourselves and forget tomorrow. I have the notion that you have never had much enjoyment in your life and I intend to see that you have a plentiful supply of it in the future.’
This did bring a smile to her face. ‘I’m sorry for being grumpy,’ she said. ‘And I suppose that, so long as he keeps to his promise to be confidential, you were right to speak to Jackson. I am being ungrateful, am I not?’
‘Understandable under the circumstances,’ said Marcus cheerfully. ‘Now, seeing that we have reached the fair, why don’t I pay for you to visit one of the fortune-tellers? She, or he—there are some hes—might solve all your problems in a trice. Which do you prefer, crystal balls, palm readings or tarot cards? I am sure that they are all on offer.’
‘Well,’ said Louise dryly, ‘it might be as useful as anything which Jackson could find after all this time, so yes to that—so long as you agree to play Find the Lady. In view of our circumstances, rather apt, don’t you think, Mr Marks?’
‘Excellent,’ Marcus replied, ‘but don’t expect me to win at cards—I have had such good luck in finding my particular lady—and you know the old saying, lucky at cards, unlucky in love, and I suppose that works in reverse at well.’
His reward was the first heartfelt laugh he had ever heard from Louise, and into the bargain she did what other young girls were doing with their swains—she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
The idea of Marcus being a swain amused her, and so she told him.
‘Hmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I always thought that swain
s were rustic creatures with a straw in their mouths, not lawyers’ clerks on holiday. I believe that we are known as penpushers.’
This earned him another laugh and Marcus began to think that things were really looking up if his darling could enjoy herself and forget her cares. It turned out that Louise had never been to a fair before, and Marcus had certainly not attended one in his character as Mr Marks. He liked the idea of being a nobody on holiday among other nobodies, but he was honest enough to admit to himself that he would probably not like being one for life. This profound thought served to increase his admiration of Louise’s feat in transforming herself from nothing into a person of consequence.
What made Louise happy was that no one stared at them, nor remarked upon them at all. She did not have to remember who she was, but simply enjoyed herself, her delicate arm tucked into Marcus’s strong one. He insisted on buying her a toffee-apple, to which she only agreed when he promised to buy himself oysters from the next booth they came to—and eat them in the street.
‘And I’ll have a toffee-apple as well, to keep you company,’ he announced magnanimously, and Marcus, Lord Angmering, known for his strict adherence to all the proprieties, walked along chewing away at an apple on a stick, between the booths which offered everything from a captive mermaid in a tank, to fairings ranging from ribbons and cockades to cheap china busts of the King and the Prince Regent, to representations of nymphs and shepherds. He could not have done anything more calculated to win his beloved’s heart.
Next Louise bought him a cockade to wear in his shabby hat, and, in return he stumped up for a bunch of blue ribbons—‘to bind up your bonny fair hair,’ he half-sang to her, altering the words of the old ballad to fit Louise’s red-tinged golden locks when he handed them over. Singing in the street—even if so low that only she might hear—what next would he do? wondered Louise, who, like Marcus, had never enjoyed herself so much for years.
The Missing Marchioness (Mills & Boon Historical) Page 9
