Lord Collin Falkham had sent for him immediately after receiving Marcus’s shocking news. Since the two had been friends for nearly two decades, Marcus answered the invitation at once.
Marcus had been ordered to marry by the dowager countess, his own mother, or forfeit his inheritance until her death. Given her good health and the fact that he loved her dearly, the edict did not come with any hope of a swift conclusion.
“You must marry,” she had stated in their London town home, seated in her favorite chair. Her little dog yipped in her lap. “Until you do, I will not allow you to have Orchard Hill.” Her dark red curls were twisted upward and tucked into a lace cap. He’d inherited both the curls and the hair-color from his mother and counted neither a blessing.
“But Mother,” he had said with a laugh. “I’m not yet thirty. There is no rush to marry, and I know you no longer wish to run the estate.”
The estate they spoke of came with her into marriage and had always been intended for a second son, since the eldest would inherit the title and lands of his father. Marcus expected Orchard Hill to come to him when he reached his majority, but his mother withheld it, stating he had yet to mature enough to take over management of the property.
She sniffed and tilted her head up in a most determined manner. “I know precisely how old you are. Just as I know that your brother is past thirty.”
“Lucas is the earl,” he pointed out. “He already inherited his title and property. What has age and marriage to do with estate management?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she admitted without blinking. “But if I could hold your brother’s feet to the fire and make him wed I would. To my sorrow, I’ve no power over him.”
“He’s already married once.”
Her tone softened. “I know. And his loss of Abigail was heart-breaking. But that was five years ago. He must move on and marry, he must find his happiness. I have spoken to him but he has yet to listen. Therefore, I have turned my attention to the son I am most able to manage. You cannot be alone forever, Marcus.”
Had anyone other than his mother said such a thing, Marcus would have bristled up at once. As it was, he was merely annoyed. But she knew him and she knew what he had gone through. His loss may not have been as devastating as his brother’s, but it was nearly as life-changing.
“What makes you think I will bow to your wishes, Mother?” He dropped into the chair across from her and slumped down in it, feeling a headache coming on. He resisted the urge to push his hands through his hair, trying not to show his frustration.
“You want Orchard Hill. You have always wanted it.” She waved a hand dismissively before returning it to pet her dog. “You trained under your father. You have shown an admirable interest in being a good landowner. But you have not married to provide a progeny. You have not looked for a lady to help you manage the estate. I will not let it pass into your hands until you have taken that important step. Until then you will live on nothing more than the allowance your father provided you in his will.”
Marcus sat straighter and regarded her warily. “Father provided a mere pittance. He knew I would have Orchard Hill not long after he passed. That was two years ago.”
She shrugged in a manner more suited to a Frenchwoman than an English countess. “Then you will live on that pittance until you marry, because my coffers are closed to you.” Though her terms were harsh, her tone remained soft and gentle. “I love you dearly, Marcus. I have great hopes for you. But you have done nothing, absolutely nothing, to find happiness for yourself. Since before your father passed you have moved about society, had flirtations aplenty, but not taken the matter seriously.” She put her dog on the floor and stood, brushing off her voluminous skirts.
“I wish for grandchildren. That is the selfish point of these stipulations. But I also wish for your joy, which I do not believe you can find alone. I would like you to marry before your thirtieth birthday. At which point, I will turn Orchard Hill over to you the moment the vows are said. If you do not marry, then we will revisit the situation.”
Days later, comfortably situated in his brother’s carriage as it neared the Falkham property, Marcus still did not understand her. The estate sat nearly stagnant, entirely dependent on his mother’s old steward to make decisions on the management of the property. He knew she had not visited the estate since his father’s death.
Why would she entertain an absurd notion of forcing him to wed instead of handing him the deed? The very idea was something out of one of those Gothic romances society debutantes liked to read.
He had no wish to put his heart at risk again, which would necessitate a marriage of convenience.
The carriage came to a stop, jolting him from his thoughts, and the door was swung open by a footman.
He released a long, slow breath to calm himself and left the carriage. The gloomy gray of the sky did little to brighten his mood. But when he saw Collin upon the steps of his home, and Marianne tucked into his side, he could not help but smile.
“Marcus, welcome.” Collin did not bound down the steps to greet him as he did at the start of their boyhood summer visits. He waited, standing straight and tall, his arm around his wife. “Come in, before the sky bursts open and soaks us all.”
Marcus took the steps quickly and clasped his friend’s hand warmly. “Collin, it’s good of you to have me.” His friend, taller than he by a hand, looked unchanged since their last meeting. He still had straight, black hair worn longer than considered fashionable, and his clothes were more suitable to riding about the countryside than sitting at home and hearth.
Collin’s expression twisted into mock-disgust. “I? Invite you? Never did such a thing. Marianne insisted you come, otherwise I would not have had you here. My wife seems oddly fond of you. Can’t say that I see why.”
Marianne laughed and stepped forward with her hand raised for Marcus to bow over it. “Don’t listen to him, Marcus. We are both very glad you’ve come.” Her fair coloring was a contrast to his friend’s looks in the most complimentary of ways.
“Especially after we received your letter,” Collin added, expression more serious. “Come in and clean up. We have refreshment for you, when you are ready.”
Marcus thanked them both and went to his room without further delay. After his valet, Cray, saw to it that his person and clothing were made respectable, he took himself off to the parlor where his hosts waited with a tea tray and sandwiches.
After all three had partaken of the light repast, Collin settled back on the couch, arm around his wife, and dove into the thing most plaguing Marcus’s mind. “So, you must find a wife.”
Marcus finished the last of his tea and returned the cup to the table at his side. “According to my mother, I must find a wife or else.”
A frown appeared on Marianne’s face, her bright eyes studying him intently. “Does this distress you, Marcus?”
Of course it did, but he was trying to keep that from showing. He offered her a confident grin. “Not entirely. A man usually gets to determine when and how he takes a bride, but I have been left with the ability to choose whom. The other factors are predetermined. I must marry before my thirtieth birthday. The sooner the better, actually. How I do it seems to matter little as long as it is quickly.”
“You poor dear.” Marianne looked up at her husband. “Although the problem presented is straightforward enough.”
“What do you intend to do?” Collin asked, studying Marcus curiously. “There are any number of ladies who would be willing to be your bride. Many a young miss in London has flirted with you and with the notion of taking you to the altar. You make the rounds of every ballroom every season.”
Marcus’s smile turned bitter at that and he looked down. “Flirting is all they do, Collin. I am a second son, with a small allowance, and an estate that no one knows about except that it is of no great consequence. My future bride will not host grand balls as my brother’s might, nor will she maneuver in the highest order of society. The
matchmaking matrons know this, if their daughters do not, and set their caps at loftier heads than mine.”
“Surely not,” Marianne protested while Collin chuckled. “You are dreadfully handsome and amusing. I think a girl would fall in love with you quite easily.”
“I hardly want a girl who must settle for me.” Marcus shook his head and refocused his attention on the lady of the house, ignoring her comment on love. He did not want love. “In fact, I don’t want a girl at all. My estate is not large and will require careful management if I am to improve it. I would prefer to have a woman of sense running my household, not a child whose only training has been to ensnare a husband. My birthday is in six months. The London season begins in one month.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Collin asked, his brows pinching together in confusion.
“I have five months to find a woman on the marriage mart, court her, and arrange a marriage. In the whirl of society, that gives me little time to fulfill the expectations of a girl in the midst of a London season.”
Collin made a humming sound. “Not to mention the gossip would make the rounds. Your desperation could easily become common knowledge. In that atmosphere such matches take a great deal of time.”
“Marry before the season.” Marianne smirked at his start of surprise. “Oh, come now. If you marry before January, when no one is yet in town, you avoid the gossips and the lengthened courtship time. Expectations are not high for courtships that take place outside of London.”
Marcus argued against that insane notion at once. “Did you forget that the season begins in one month? Where am I to find a woman to marry at such short notice? They hardly advertise such things in the Times. I would need to have the banns read this Sunday.” Marcus said adamantly. “No. That will never work. Unless you are hiding a flock of marriageable young ladies somewhere about the country.”
“Advertisements in the Times and now flocks.” Collin shook his head, lips pursed in amusement. “You truly know nothing about obtaining a bride.”
“Obviously not, as I am now several years behind you in doing so,” Marcus grumbled, not at all amused.
Marianne glanced from one man to the other, her eyebrows pulled down. “Marcus, we have discussed your situation at length and hit upon a scheme you may find reasonable. If Collin will be serious for a moment, I might explain it to you.”
“If it is a scheme of Collin’s there will be nothing reasonable about it.” Marcus scoffed but Collin cast his wife a long-suffering look. “Marianne, please share your thoughts on the matter. It will be a pleasure to hear what a lady of such fine taste, with the exception of her taste in husband, has to contribute to my sorry cause.”
Marianne leaned forward, her eyes glittering with mischief. “We know the perfect woman to aid you. She is practical and intelligent, which are both qualities you seem to want in a wife.”
“Is she an antidote, too?” He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Of course not. I would say she’s lovely,” Marianne protested.
“Does it really matter, given your time constraints?” Collin asked with a chuckle. “You are already being dreadfully specific about her abilities, but now you want beauty, too?”
Marcus glared at him. “I would prefer to avoid absolute beauty actually, but a wife with a pleasant countenance and all of her teeth in good repair is not too much to ask. There are the future children to consider.” Beautiful women could rarely be trusted, present company excluded. His heart had to pay for that lesson in life.
Marianne huffed with impatience and stood, necessitating both men to leap up as well. “Marcus, you are being far too flippant and I am of a mind to let you find your own way out of your mess.” She stormed to the window and snapped over her shoulder, “Oh, sit down, both of you.”
The men exchanged looks, her husband one of chagrin and Marcus of surprise.
“Are you certain you want to marry?” Collin winked at him and darted a look at his wife’s rigid back.
“Quiet, Collin. We mustn’t upset her further.” Marcus gestured to the chairs and they sat again. “I apologize, Marianne. Please forgive me, but my irritation with my circumstances has grown extreme.” He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, remembering he must get it cut soon before his unwanted curls appeared. “Please, tell me more about this lovely and intelligent woman.”
Marcus hoped this woman wasn’t one of the ladies he had considered. The ton was full of social-climbing sycophants, women with little else in their minds but advancement and large sums of pin money. Orchard Hill would not provide for anyone of that ilk in what they would consider a satisfactory manner.
The few women he knew without such ambitions were in search of love matches, which was something he would not give them.
Marianne glanced over her shoulder at him and made a dismissive gesture. “There isn’t much for me to tell you except that you already know her.”
“I have been wondering who of my acquaintance might be willing, but I confess I found none particularly appealing. Who do you have in mind?”
The lady looked to her husband, that dangerous twinkle in her eye again. “Someone I doubt you even considered.”
“Because you do not run in the same circles,” Collin amended. “Not because she is an antidote. She is dark haired, with brown eyes, the usual sort of figure for a woman of six and twenty. Very intelligent. Well read.”
Marcus looked from his friend sitting at ease on the sofa, to his hostess standing at the window. His mind searched out who of his acquaintance, familiar to the Falkhams, could fit such a description.
When he hit upon the memory of a young woman with black curls and starry eyes, he grew still. “You cannot mean—” He stopped himself and shook his head. “But she’s your cousin, Collin. Surely you wish better for her.” A weak laugh escaped him.
Collin and his wife exchanged a look, communicating in that silent way of married couples, but Marcus knew enough of them both to see their concern. They were treading carefully, he realized, and had a plan.
“Wish better for Ellen?” Collin leaned back, as though completely unconcerned with the matter. “Who better for her than my closest friend? I know you well, Marcus. I know you are able to care for a wife once you have your inheritance. You will provide for her. Keep her in comfort. Treat her with respect and honor.”
“I’m the second son of an earl, with a small estate inherited through my mother.” He raised his hands in a confused gesture. “Why would you want that for her?”
Marianne came forward and laid her hand on his arm, looking up at him with an earnest expression. “You may not realize what you have to offer a wife, Marcus. Especially someone as kind and sweet as Ellen. Besides that, she has grown up with all of us. She knows you. You know her. Could you at least give her a chance and see if she would suit?”
Marcus sighed and closed his eyes. “What am I to do? Show up at her door, before the season begins, and ask for an audience? The only place I have ever seen her is at this house during childhood, and at your wedding two years ago.” Though he had seen her that recently, he had trouble recalling exactly what she looked like as an adult. He kept attempting to conjure an image of the woman she had become and could only remember a young girl with freckles across her nose and that nose glued to a book.
“That could be considered strange,” Collin acknowledged, holding a hand out to his wife. She took it and joined him again on the plush furniture. “Which is why we have invited her to stay with us while you are here.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “You did what? Ellen’s here?”
“She is arriving today, actually. You both have excellent timing when it comes to accepting invitations,” Marianne said demurely. “I expect her before dinner.”
Chapter Three
Ellen stepped down from her father’s carriage. The sky grew dark, the shorter days of December meaning lamps must be lit sooner each evening. She did not mind the nip in the air when greeted
with the bright windows of her cousin’s home. Collin and his wife stood at the top of the steps, doubtless alerted to her arrival by a servant keeping watch, looking as happy together as when she’d seen them the summer before.
Wasting no time, Ellen took the steps quickly and walked into Marianne’s embrace. “It is so good of you to have me,” she said sincerely. “I have missed you both, and your home is one of the dearest places on earth to me.”
Marianne laughed and returned the hug whole-heartedly. “I am glad your family could spare you. It is always wonderful to have you with us.”
“As long as you are behaving like a lady instead of a hoyden,” Collin interrupted, extending his hand to her.
“When have I ever been anything other than perfectly behaved?” she asked, feigning an indignant tone. “All of my memories revolve around you creating mischief while I was told to play elsewhere or else had to become the damsel in distress.”
He laughed outright and gestured to the door. “Come, if we are going to reminisce we ought to do it in a warmer environment.”
“And I’m sure you wish to freshen up after that carriage ride.” Marianne brought her attention to a maid waiting inside the door. “This is Sarah. She will attend you while you are with us.”
“My own maid,” Ellen said with a bright smile for the young girl, who could be no older than fifteen. “I am certain we will get along splendidly as I already feel very spoiled to have you, Sarah.”
“Thank you, miss.” The girl dipped a curtsy and took hat, bonnet, and gloves with a nervous smile on her lips.
“Sarah is a gem and hopes to be a proper lady’s maid one day.” Marianne turned her attention back to her guest, still smiling brightly. “Please take your time settling in. We won’t expect you down until dinner.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
His Bluestocking Bride: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 3) Page 2
