“Then”—he kissed her again—“the lack of sleep looks lovely on you.”
The crackling of grease sent him back to his cooking. She followed as far as the table. Sitting, she asked, “Where did you get eggs?”
“I stole them.”
“You stole them?”
He laughed as he spooned some of the eggs onto a plate and put it in front of her. “Are you surprised because you didn’t think the son of a duke would stoop to larceny?”
“I honestly did not think you could sneak in and out without alerting someone.” Taking a bite, she smiled. “I hope you intend to repay the farmer whose henhouse is a few eggs leaner.”
“This farmer can afford to give us these eggs.” He served himself and sat across from her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I stole these from one of the coops at Attleby Court.”
When he laughed, she shook her head and chuckled. “You are a greater widgeon than I had thought, Marcus. What if you had been seen?”
“I have been skulking about Attleby Court all my life. I know ways about the gardens which I suspect even the gardeners do not know.” Scooping up a forkful of eggs, he smiled. “I shall take you there if you wish.”
“Today?”
He glanced at the windows where rain was carving streams along the uneven glass. “On a drier day. Out in that storm once is enough.”
Regina’s reply was halted by a knock at the door.
Her fork dropped to the floor with an ear-wrenching clatter. “Who—?”
She jumped up and went to the shelf where the pistols were stored. Taking them down, she checked to be sure they were loaded.
“Wait!” Marcus commanded in a hoarse whisper.
“If one of the Dey’s agents—”
He snapped, “Don’t you think they would have rushed in here by now? I cannot imagine them knocking.”
“Then whom could it be? We are not holding an at-home today.”
“No.” His lips twitched.
The rapping came again more anxiously, followed by a shout. “My lord?”
Botheration flashed across Marcus’s face. Racing to the door, he threw it open. “Andrews? What are you doing here?”
Regina drew her wrapper more closely around her as Marcus opened the door wider to reveal his valet. The lanky man brushed rain from his soaked shoulders. Clamping her lips closed, Regina stood straighter as she set the pistol on the table. There could be only one reason Marcus’s valet was here—to bring news. She hoped it was good news, but must be prepared if it was not.
“My lord, how good it is to see you!” cried Andrews. “I cannot tell you how odd it seems to be in Town without you. My hands are idle half the day, and each day is like a century.”
“Andrews, you are babbling like a prattle-box,” grumbled Marcus as he peeked around the door before shutting it. He glanced at Regina and winked.
She relaxed slightly. Although she wished to commend him for his good sense in checking to see if Andrews had been followed, she doubted if he had scanned every shadow. The men who sought her would not be standing openly in the cottage’s ruined garden.
“Are you hungry, Andrews?” she asked. “There are more eggs in the pan.”
“You have cooked breakfast, my lady?” asked the valet, his eyes bulging.
“Lord Daniston is our cook.” She motioned for Andrews to fold his thin form and sit. “He is surprisingly competent, especially with stolen eggs.”
“Compared with Lady Daniston,” Marcus added.
“Stolen eggs?” choked Andrews.
“Eat up, man,” Marcus said, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate and setting it in front of his valet.
Andrews’s eyes protruded even more as he stared at the food.
“Eat up,” Marcus repeated. “After all, the hens will not take them back now.”
“But, my lord—”
“Andrews,” Regina said, taking pity on the poor valet, “Lord Daniston took them from the coops at Attleby Court.”
“Attleby Court?” His skinny shoulders sagged. “This is good to hear, my lady, right good to hear!”
Marcus sat and asked, “Why are you here, Andrews? Is something wrong with Fisher? I …” A guilty look crossed his face as he avoided Regina’s eyes.
She wondered why she had not guessed that Mr. Fisher had been Marcus’s courier. It made complete sense. Mr. Fisher was a trusted friend, but few people in London knew of his tenuous affiliation with the Whyte family.
Andrews held out a sealed letter. “From Her Grace, my lord.”
Opening the page, Marcus leaned forward to read the tiny scrawling of his grandmother’s handwriting. Regina unabashedly read over his shoulder.
Dear Marcus and Regina,
How we have missed you! The house seems so empty without you. Thank goodness I have Elayne Morrissey to keep me company. Your father, Marcus, has barely put his toe in this house since you left. I have never known him to spend so much time at Brooks’s, but I suspect it might have something to do with making Mr. Fisher a member. The two are completely in each other’s pockets.
I have had a difficult time contriving stories to convince our neighbors that you are only out of Town for a visit with friends in grassville. Lady Longmont has been most disagreeable. I …
Marcus dropped the page before Regina could finish reading the last few lines. Not that she cared. If the dowager duchess wrote as she spoke, it would take several pages before she reached the gist of her message.
Sure enough on the last page of the long letter, the dowager duchess had penned:
So I think you shall find it safe to come back to Town at this time. Mayhap you will have to leave right after the wedding ceremony, but we should delay that ceremony no longer. I am sending Andrews to you. He will come with a carriage, but I shall instruct him to leave the coachman and carriage some distance from you.
Do hurry home, children. I have missed having you here to fill my ears with your sweet words.
Regina laughed. “Sweet words? I doubt if we said many, Marcus.”
“Grandmother hears only what she wants to hear.”
“And says exactly what she wants to say.”
He stacked the pages together. “A trait the rest of us would be wise to emulate … occasionally.” He glanced up when Andrews set himself on his feet and began to clear the table. “You don’t need to do that, Andrews.”
“Allow me, my lord. Idle hands—”
“Spare me the dowager duchess’s truisms.” Marcus gave a groan as he stood. “Dash it! I have to own that I have not missed those.”
Regina laughed as she went to the stairs. “Let me get properly dressed before we make plans to return to Town.”
Catching her hand, Marcus drew her arm up around his shoulder. She smiled up at him, delighted to be within the curve of his arm. He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek as he asked, “You do wish to get married again, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, not caring that Andrews was privy to this most private conversation. “A real wedding this time.” She took a deep breath, then added, “And a real marriage.”
“I agree.” He smiled as he brushed his hand against her cheek. “It is time to stop hiding like rabbits in a hedgerow and get back to our customary lives.”
“Having a brangle every day?”
“Undoubtedly.”
She stepped up onto the first riser, then turned. “I do wonder if this is wise.”
“Going back to Town?”
“No, having such a public ceremony. Although the Dey’s agents are clearly routed, for the dowager duchess would not ask us to return otherwise, I cannot believe this will come to such a simple ending.”
He framed her face with his hands and brought her lips to his. The fire that grew more fierce each time he touched her soared to life as his mouth slanted across hers in a slow but eager exploration. Her heart beat rapidly as he then whispered, “You worry too mu
ch, sweetheart. Why don’t you start packing while I go with Andrews to get the carriage? We should be no longer than an hour.”
She stood on tiptoe to taste the desire still lingering on his lips. “Stay safe, my love.”
“I intend to.” His grin lightened her heart as he added, “I have too much to look forward to now.” He bent to whisper against her ear. “Tonight that door between our rooms shall be unlocked.”
“The dowager duchess—”
“Be damned.”
“Marcus!”
He gave her a rakish grin as he went to the door and signaled impatiently to Andrews to follow. The valet scurried after him with only a nod in Regina’s direction.
When a gust of wind nearly snatched the door away from Andrews, she grasped its rough edge. “Go ahead, Andrews.”
He smiled his thanks, startling her. Marcus’s valet had never worn anything but a grim expression in her company, and she had suspected that he disapproved of her marriage to his lord. Even though he had said nothing, she could think of no other reason for his dreary frown.
She leaned back against the door as she closed it. How she would have scoffed if only a few days ago someone had told her she would be loath to leave this cottage! Yet, she was. She had found magic here in Marcus’s arms. She had found love.
Going to the window, she peered past the rivulets of rain to see the two men trudging into the bushes. She wondered if Marcus had found love here, too. A twinge of distress picked at her heart. If only he had said—even once—that he loved her, she would be able to put all her qualms about this marriage aside.
She must be patient. Papa had told her that dozens of dozens of times. Life did not unfold as one wished on the schedule one liked. Instead she had to wait for Marcus to discover what she longed to believe was in his heart.
Then complete happiness would be hers.
“I cannot say, my lord,” Andrews answered as he had twice before. His voice was filled with disgust at having to tramp through the soaked greenery.
“Grandmother must have spoken of the reason she considers it safe for Lady Daniston to return to London,” Marcus insisted.
The valet shrugged, then grimaced even more when water sprinkled on his head from the branches woven together loosely over him. “Her Grace is not in the habit of explaining her decisions to the household.”
“True.” Marcus chuckled. “I fear I have been away from my family too long and become accustomed to this more sedate life. Without Grandmother, I find life quieter.”
“Giving you time for thievery?”
He laughed again. “Now, Andrews, I have no need for your scolds.” He shoved at a thick bramble, then thought better of it. Edging around it, he swore when his boots sank into the mired ground. “She said nothing of what made Father change his mind?”
“I know His Grace was most troubled by your missive about the Arab chancing upon you and Lady Daniston not far from here.”
“I did not know that Father was now seeking your counsel.”
Andrews’s face flushed. “My lord, I assure you that I did not read the letter you sent to His Grace. I simply chanced to overhear him speaking with Mr. Fisher. His Grace was mightily perturbed, and his anger focused on Mr. Fisher. Later, I heard in the kitchen that Mr. Fisher was considering leaving.”
“I doubt if Miss Morrissey would agree to leave until after the wedding.” His laugh was humorless. “Mayhap that is the very reason Grandmother is determined to have the wedding with undue haste. She abhors any disharmony in the house that she does not herself create.”
Andrews said, “She has been very bothered by your extended absence. She has missed you dearly.”
“As I have her, if you wish me to own the truth.” He clapped his valet on the shoulder. “Rid yourself of the long face, Andrews. You know that, despite any comments I might make in frustration, I love Grandmother deeply.”
“As she does you.” He squatted to avoid a branch, but the water streamed down on him anyhow. “As Lady Daniston clearly does.”
Marcus was astonished at the pleasure in his valet’s voice. Andrews had always been critical of the women in his lord’s life, although he had saved a special distaste for Jocelyn. Even Regina had not gained his favor … until now.
When his lord did not answer, Andrews pushed through to the wall by the narrow road. He clambered over the stone wall as limberly as a man half his age. With his hands on the top, he turned to ask, “And, my lord, if I may be so bold, although I know it is none of my bread and butter, do you love Lady Daniston as well?”
“You are right.” Lord Daniston leapt over the wall and strode toward the carriage waiting a few yards along the road. Over his shoulder, he snapped, “It is none of your bread and butter!”
“But, my lord—”
Lord Daniston turned to face him and scowled. “Andrews, my life is about to resume the path it should have. The path I want it to have. Nothing else needs to be said.”
“Yes, my lord,” he said. As he watched his lord go to speak to the coachman, he glanced back at the trees behind him. So many jokes he and Lord Daniston had shared, but he suspected Lady Daniston was about to be made the butt of the cruelest jest of all.
Regina folded the blanket … again. Dropping it back on the bed, she shook her head. None of the corners were even as Kamil would have managed to make them. She truly had no idea how he—or the staff at the duke’s townhouse—had made such complicated tasks look so easy.
She reached for the blanket again, then, with a curse that would have earned her a rebuke from Papa, stuffed it into the case. It would have to be laundered when they returned to Berkeley Square. A few more wrinkles would not be a problem.
As she jammed the edges of the blanket down around the clothes in the case, something crackled under her fingers. She reached into the bag and drew out a single sheet of paper. She was about to toss it back on top of the blanket when a name caught her eyes.
Jocelyn!
Pressing her hand over her suddenly aching heart, she gasped as she realized this was not something Marcus had brought with him to the cottage. The date at the top was yesterday’s.
Put it away, her heart commanded. Put it away, and pretend you never saw it. Do not ruin the glorious love you have discovered with Marcus. Hold onto the glories of a happy marriage.
She could not. By opening her heart to Marcus, she had dared to believe he loved only her. Instead he had been writing to his convenient.
My dear Jocelyn,
I pen this short missive to let you know that upon my return to Town, I shall come to call upon you. There are many things I need to say to you, for our relationship has been in my thoughts much during my forced absence from London.
Regina dropped the page to her lap, unable to read the last few sentences. Covering her face with her hands, she shivered. Was this how it felt to have one’s heart break? Where happiness had been moments before, there now was nothing. Not even pain. Nothing but an unrelenting numbness that threatened to swell outward to envelop her in its bleakness.
“Regina?”
She moaned softly as she heard Marcus call to her. Hastily she dropped the page into the bag, making sure it did not drift down the side out of sight.
Never let them know when you are troubled. Papa’s voice rang through her head.
Standing, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. That advice was the only shield she had now. Her most precious dream was dying at the hands of a man who should have made it come true.
Sixteen
Regina had hoped that Marcus would speak to her of the letter that she had left on top of the opened case. Instead he sent Andrews to retrieve the cases and load them in the carriage’s boot. She waited for Marcus to say something on the way back to Town, but he was as silent as when they had been driven to the dowager cottage.
The silence ended when they reached Berkeley Square. Although the hour was long past midnight, every window was bright with the glow of lamps. T
he dowager duchess met them at the door herself.
“My dears, how wondrous to have you home!” she cried, embracing first Marcus, then Regina. “I cannot tell you how I have worried about you! Do come in and tell me all about your long journey from Attleby Court. Do you know that I have had reports of a thief there?”
“What is this?” came the duke’s voice as he descended the stairs, pulling his robe closed. “My word, Marcus! Son, what are you doing here?”
“Grandmother wrote for us to return.”
“Mother, I told you—”
The dowager duchess clucked her tongue. “I have heard enough of your doom-sayings. My dear children have been returned to the bosom of their family. And none too soon.” She put her hand to her bosom. “There is poker-talk throughout the Polite World. I shall not have such things said about my family. There is no choice but to hold the wedding posthaste.”
“What is going on?” Another voice sounded from the top of the stairs. Mr. Fisher rushed down, followed by Aunt Elayne. Even the spacious foyer started to feel chock-full. Mr. Fisher glanced at the duke before saying, “This is not a good idea.”
Regina said, “Whether it is a good idea or not, I am fatigued from our journey back to Town. I am sure Marcus is, too. Can we not talk about this after the sun rises? After all, nothing is going to happen tonight.”
When Aunt Elayne put her arm around Regina’s shoulders, Regina was glad to let her aunt sweep her up the stairs. At the top she glanced down and met Marcus’s eyes. He smiled. She bit her lip and turned away.
Beatty was awash with tears when Regina entered her room. Murmuring “My dear, dear lady” over and over, the abigail brought Regina a clean nightgown and turned down the bed that would not be scented with remnants of mildew. Two pearlescent tears rolled along the woman’s face, and Regina was ready to ask her to stop crying. There was nothing she could tolerate less than tears, but she remained silent. Beatty would not be soothed until she had a chance to cry her fill.
Although Regina would have preferred to ask both women to leave, she encouraged them to stay as they tended to her as if she was no more than a child. She did convince Beatty not to rout the serving lasses to bring a bath, but she let them tuck her into bed and sit with her while she pretended to fall asleep.
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