A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS

by Lillian Marek

  “Really?” said Augusta. She looked at them with brows raised in disbelief, but did not comment further. “No matter. One of our maids can assist her.” With that, she swept the women up the steps and into the house, her brother following behind.

  Anne took Greystone’s arm as he led the way down a corridor, brilliantly lit by what seemed like dozens of candles in mirrored sconces, until they reached a door near the end.

  “This is your room, Anne,” said the earl.

  A footman flung open the door to a room warmed by a brisk fire and brightened by a huge bouquet of late summer blooms. Anne stood transfixed for a moment. There was painted wallpaper in the Chinese style with flowering branches and exotic birds against a pale blue background. An enormous wardrobe was painted a matching blue and decorated with similar birds. The bed was topped with a cream silk coverlet and piled high with pillows. The floor was covered with a thick carpet in a blue just a few shades darker than the wallpaper.

  “Do you like it?” asked Greystone a bit hesitantly. “It’s a bit old-fashioned, I’m afraid. This is the room your mother always had when she stayed here, and we had it refurbished just the way it was, so I thought…”

  “Oh, Uncle George, it is absolutely wonderful. Did Mother really stay here? How wonderful.” Her eyes were filling up with tears again. “I am being such a ninny,” she apologized. “It is just that I am so happy. I thought I would never see you again.”

  While the earl beamed, Augusta wrapped her arms around the girl. “Now, now,” she said, “I am sure you must be tired. You’ll enjoy a bath after your journey, and I’ll have a tray brought to your room. We’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

  Alone in her room, Anne caressed the top of the chair drawn up by the fireplace. It was silk, a lovely blue silk with a narrow cream stripe, soft and welcoming. When her parents had been alive, she had had a chair like this in her room. On winter evenings, she would curl up in it by the fire and read, or just stare at the fire and dream. Here there was a fire to take the chill off the evening, even though it was barely September. A wood fire, not coal, with the scent of apple wood. This was what her life had been like, once upon a time.

  While she stood there luxuriating in both the warmth and the fragrance, footmen appeared to set up a bath in the dressing room, where there was yet another fire, and fill the tub with steaming hot water. As the footman departed, a maid appeared carrying towels and scented soaps.

  “I’m Millie, my lady,” she said, bobbing and smiling, “and Lady Augusta asked me to act as your maid since you did not bring yours. Here, let me help you undress.” She suited the action to the word, and Anne was not quite sure how to react. It had been years since anyone had helped her with anything.

  “Would you like me to help you bathe,” Millie asked, “or should I just get on with the unpacking?”

  Anne assured the girl that she could manage to wash herself, and sank into the tub. The blissfully warm water soothed her aches—ten hours in a coach, no matter how well sprung, had taken a toll. And the soap! She just held it to her face and inhaled the fragrance. It smelled of roses. Her mother had had soap that smelled of roses. Was it just a coincidence, or did Lady Augusta remember? She would have to ask in the morning.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” said Millie, breaking in on Anne’s thoughts, “but they seem to have mislaid your trunk. There’s only the one box …” The contents of Anne’s box were clearly unsatisfactory, but it was equally clear that the maid did not feel free to say so. Anne agreed, but she did not feel free to say so either.

  “No, it’s all right, Millie,” said Anne. “I am afraid that is all I brought. Just put my night things on the chair there and then you may go.”

  “Very well, my lady,” Millie said doubtfully. She held up a green striped muslin, which she clearly considered the best of a sorry lot. Anne agreed again. Mrs. Bacon, the housekeeper, had spent the past two days altering it for her. The waist now fit snugly, and stiffening had been added to make the skirt flare out. There was even a ruff of lace at the neck. Anne had not asked where Mrs. Bacon had found the lace.

  Millie sighed. “You’ll be wanting to wear this tomorrow. I’ll take it with me to press. Good night, my lady.”

  When Anne was ready for bed, she went to the window to pull back the draperies, lift up the sash, and look out at the stars. When she was a child, she had loved to go to sleep looking at the stars and to wake up with sunshine on her face. One couldn’t leave a window open in London, of course. That was simply an invitation to burglars. Here, however, it would be perfectly safe.

  Chapter Six

  In which hope begins to spring

  The next morning, Lady Augusta carried Anne off, saying, “We have much to talk about.” She settled herself on the settee in her sitting room, introduced her friend Miss Carruthers, patted the seat beside her for Anne and said, “Now let me get a good look at you. Why on earth are you wearing that cap?”

  Anne flushed. “My uncle insists. He says it is appropriate for my situation.”

  “Your situation! What utter nonsense.” Lady Augusta pulled the floppy mobcap from Anne’s head. “A frivolous little scrap of lace would be one thing, but a young woman of your age and station should be wearing a cap like this only if all her hair has fallen out. Yours, on the contrary, is quite thick and a lovely color.” She narrowed her eyes. “Dark, almost black. Very much the color of your dear mother’s hair. But surely Millie did not pull your hair into a knot like that. I thought she was quite clever with hair.”

  Anne’s flush grew deeper. “I told her there was no point. The cap hides my hair completely.”

  “Well, there will be no more caps here, young lady.” Lady Augusta smiled and waggled a finger at her goddaughter. “I cannot imagine what your uncle is thinking of. Dressing you like a…almost like a servant…can only discourage precisely the sort of suitors one wishes to attract. The fortune hunters will hover anyway.”

  Anne’s lips twisted into a smile. “I would need a fortune to attract fortune hunters, and it seems that I have nothing. So long as it is my uncle who gives me a home, I must abide by his wishes.”

  “Nothing? What nonsense. Aside from being an earl, your father was a wealthy man. I know the title went to a distant cousin and estate lands were entailed, but surely he provided for you. You are, after all, still living in the London house.”

  “But it is now my uncle’s house.” Anne shook off the thought. “Please, let us not speak of it. Instead, tell me about my mother when you and she were at school.”

  Lady Augusta hesitated. She looked as if she wanted to do more prodding, but surrendered with a smile. “Very well, my dear. Miss Carruthers and I were both at school with your mother, you know, and we were inseparable.”

  “Yes indeed,” said Miss Carruthers. “And you are so like her, it takes my breath away.”

  The two older women soon had Anne enthralled with their tales of schoolgirl pranks and schoolgirl pleasures. Their words seemed to bring her mother back—the gay, loving woman they described was the same woman Anne remembered. Sometimes, looking at her aunt, she feared that memory played her false, that she had endowed her mother with an impossible array of virtues. Yet the girl Lady Augusta and Miss Carruthers described was the same woman Anne remembered. How strange that her mother and Aunt Craddock should be sisters yet be so unlike.

  Then Lady Augusta stood up. “Before we get too lost in the past, we need to take a look at your wardrobe, Anne. You seemed to have very little luggage with you, and I want to make sure you are properly turned out for the coming weeks.” She smiled as Anne flushed once more. “Come, child, do not be embarrassed. You look charming in that dress, but it is a bit dated in style. We’ll bring my maid, Marie, with us. She is French and is a wonder with a needle. If anything more is needed, we can call in the dressmaker.”

  It was a solemn group that stood in Anne’s room as Millie laid the three remaining gowns out for view: one peach muslin, one grey musl
in, and one grey bombazine, all very plain.

  “Mais, c’est affreux!” exclaimed Marie.

  “Dear me,” said Miss Carruthers.

  Anne wanted to expire on the spot and could not bear to look at anyone. Lady Augusta shot her a glance before returning her gaze to the dresses. “Do not be embarrassed, child,” she said. “It is hardly your fault that you are so ill supplied.” She turned to look at Anne. “Have you left the rest of your wardrobe at home? Some silk dresses, perhaps?”

  Anne shook her head. “No, my lady. This is my wardrobe.”

  Lady Augusta took a deep breath and pressed her mouth closed.

  Marie picked up the peach muslin, looked at it dubiously, and fingered the fabric. She held out the skirt. “There is fabric here,” she said. “I can do something. But the others…” She simply shuddered.

  “Did I misunderstand?” asked Miss Carruthers. “I thought your aunt said that you attended some balls with her and Corinne. Whatever did you wear?”

  Anne gestured at the grey muslin. It had originally been Aunt Craddock’s and had been altered—slightly—for Anne. That is, the neckline had been raised, and the trimming removed. In short, it had been turned into a dress suitable for an elderly lady’s companion. Since Anne had spent the balls she attended sitting with the chaperones—or rather, slightly behind the chaperones and almost completely out of sight—that was what everyone assumed she was.

  Lady Augusta managed to smile. “I will send for the seamstress from the village immediately. She can be here this afternoon and will be able to provide some things, I am sure. Not a word, Anne!” She held up a hand to silence the girl. “My brother and I are your godparents, after all. You would not want to shame us by being anything less than fashionable, now would you?”

  So while Lady Augusta dashed off a note and sent a messenger to the village seamstress, Anne stood silent in the peach dress, half embarrassed and half ecstatic, as Marie pinned and snipped and muttered to herself. Anne’s French may have been a bit rusty, but she had no difficulty in understanding those mutterings. However it seemed more discreet to pretend she did not.

  After luncheon—a somewhat uncomfortable meal indulged in only by the ladies—at which Mrs. Craddock endeavored to patronize Anne and push Corinne forward while Lady Augusta simply looked at her, Anne decided it would be politic to vanish. She decided to spend the afternoon in the library, where she could be reasonably certain that her Craddock relations would not find her. There she found a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s new novel, The Fair Maid of Perth, and gloried in the freedom to sit and read in peace.

  She was not alone very long, however. Miss Carruthers found her and settled in with a basket of knitting, determined to chat.

  “I am so very glad to make your acquaintance, my dear. Your mother was such a dear friend of my youth.”

  The pink wool project she was working on looked rather like a small blanket, and Anne said so.

  “You are absolutely right.” Miss Carruthers beamed at her. “I have so many nieces and nephews whose families are always increasing that I try to keep ahead of them by having at least one blanket ready before the next baby appears. It is so nice to have a large family.”

  “I’m sure it must be.” Anne couldn’t help feeling wistful. “I have only the Craddocks.”

  Miss Carruthers offered a sympathetic sigh. “Yes, and Lady Augusta and Greystone also have few relatives. I think that’s why they were so hurt never to hear from you.”

  “Not hear from me? Of course I wrote, often at first, but when I never got any answers…” She turned away.

  “No answers? Surely their letters cannot all have gone astray.” Miss Carruthers put down her knitting and frowned at Anne.

  “Please.” Anne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please, I don’t want them to think badly of me, and I don’t want to sound as if I am whining, but…my uncle is a controlling man.”

  “Do you mean he might go so far as to keep correspondence from you? Or keep your letters from going out?” Miss Carruthers continued to frown.

  Anne flattened her mouth. “If he thought it best. Please, make it clear to Aunt Augusta and Uncle George that I would never intentionally cut myself off from them.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure they will understand.”

  Anne could not decide which was worse—the humiliation of their pity or the pain of having hurt them. However, when she went to her room to dress for dinner, the sight of the peach muslin banished all feelings other than delight. Marie, assisted by the seamstress, had worked wonders. The gown now fit, instead of hanging like a tent, and had somehow acquired a deal of lace trimming around the neckline, which dipped low enough for fashion, and three rows of green ribbon around the hem. There were little puff sleeves, barely making it onto her shoulders, also trimmed with lace and ribbons. New petticoats held the skirt out. Silk stockings had appeared, and there were little green bows on her old gray slippers. When Millie had finished with her hair, giving her bunches of ringlets tied up on either side of her head with still more of the green ribbon, Anne took a look at herself in the glass, and saw a princess looking back.

  She paused at the entrance to the drawing room, suddenly shy at the sight of so many strangers. Guests had clearly begun arriving. But then she saw Lady Augusta and the earl, beaming at her. Their welcoming approval cheered her even more than the astounded irritation she could see on the faces of her aunt and cousin.

  “Anne, my dear,” said the earl, holding out his hands to her, “come greet Winchelsea. He has been waiting impatiently to see you.”

  “Your Grace.” She curtseyed gracefully. For a duke, she thought, he did not look terribly impressive. He was not particularly tall, barely taller than she was herself and she was of only ordinary height, and he was smiling at her in a way that was far more friendly than intimidating.

  “I doubt you remember me, Lady Anne,” he said. “You were just a little slip of a thing, toddling around and lisping, when I last saw you. And here you are, grown into a beauty like your mother. You must have all the young men dancing attendance.”

  Anne blushed a bit—prettily, she hoped—uncertain how to reply. She could see her aunt and cousin about to descend on them.

  He held out an arm. “Perhaps you would favor me with a turn about the room?” he asked. “I look forward to reminiscing about your father and hearing how things have been with you.”

  “I would be honored, Your Grace.” Ignoring her aunt’s approach, she smiled sweetly and laid her hand lightly on the proffered arm. She would have to pay for this, she thought. Her aunt would make sure of that. But, oh, it was worth it.

  Dinner was an elaborate affair, though only a dozen or so of the guests had already arrived. Anne sat at Greystone’s right, and the conversation was general more often than not, cheerful and gay. She could not see her aunt and cousin—they were on the same side of the table as she, but separated from her. She could not even hear their voices, and that absence was more soothing than any music. Those people she could see were quite gloriously fashionable. She especially admired the appearance of a blond woman slightly farther down on the other side of the table. Her hair was intricately coiled and piled high on her head, with pearls and silk flowers woven into it. Her dress was a dramatic and daring confection of deep blue silk with tiny sleeves of ivory lace that continued across the low—amazingly low—décolletage. Just as Anne was about to ask Greystone about her, the woman spoke.

  “Lord Greystone, where is Penworth? He is your cousin, is he not? I thought surely he would be paying his respects to you, new title or no.”

  “He would have been here earlier, Lady Hadlow, but the legal intricacies have been taking far more time than he expected. He has promised to be here as soon as he extricates himself,” said Greystone.

  “From the legal tangle or from the fleshpots, eh?” broke in young Mr. Spencer with a laughing glance at Lady Hadlow.

  “Speaking of the missing,” said Mr. S
pencer’s mother, looking at Lady Hadlow in a far less friendly fashion, “when is your husband planning to arrive?”

  Lady Hadlow laughed. “Oh, good heavens, Mrs. Spencer, you can hardly expect me to know. If he has not vanished into some interminable bout of gambling at White’s, he has probably been captured by the shapely ankle of an opera dancer.”

  Greystone turned to Lady Anne and frowned slightly, as if to say that this was an inappropriate conversation for her ears. She, of course, found it quite fascinating, though she gave every appearance of concentrating on her soup rather than attending to the speakers.

  “Did you ever meet my young cousin, Philip Tremaine?” Greystone asked her. “I thought not,” he continued when she shook her head. “He and his mother lived with us here for a time before he went to India. He is the new Marquess of Penworth, having recently, and most unexpectedly, come into the title.”

  “Unexpectedly?” Anne asked.

  “Yes,” said Greystone. “His father was only the fourth son, but a series of deaths has left Philip the heir.”

  “Bad blood in that family, the Tremaines,” said Lord Southerton, sitting beside Lady Hadlow. “Rakehells and libertines, the lot of them.”

  Lady Hadlow smiled slyly. “Surely that simply makes them more…interesting.”

  “Interesting, bah!” said a gentleman a bit farther down the table. “No one ever heard anything good about the Tremaines. Dishonorable degenerates, one and all. Southerton has the right of it. Bad blood.”

  Just then a young man appeared in the doorway—a tall, slim young man who might have been handsome were it not for the ferocious scowl on his face. He seemed to pull himself together and bowed courteously to Lady Augusta. “Your pardon, my lady, Greystone. I fear I am dreadfully late.”

  “Not at all, Philip,” said Lady Augusta. “We are delighted that you managed to get here.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” said Greystone, calling down from the other end of the table but looking embarrassed. “Do sit down and join us.”