A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS

by Lillian Marek

  Philip could do nothing to restore the reputation of the lady Cedric had ruined, carrying her off from a ball and returning her to her family the next morning, bruised and hysterical. The scandal was such that when her brother killed Cedric in a duel, the authorities ignored the duel and declared that Cedric must have been the victim of highwaymen. But for the lady herself, nothing could be done. The solicitor assured him that her family was caring for her and would not welcome any expression of concern from a member of the Tremaine family.

  To celebrate the end of their labors, Penworth insisted that Middleton join him in a brandy. “The one thing of value in this house appears to be the cellar. There seems to be such a store of excellent brandy that my grandsons will one day be enjoying it,” said Penworth with a smile.

  Middleton accepted a glass with appreciation. “Your grandsons, my lord? Are you contemplating marriage?”

  “Not just contemplating. You may wish me happy. On this coming Saturday I will be marrying the Lady Anne Milhaven, the daughter of the late Earl of Elsworth.” Penworth studied the brandy in his glass and realized that he was actually looking forward to the event.

  “Elsworth? Elsworth? Bless my soul, I had quite forgotten that there was a daughter. I do not recall hearing anything of her in recent years, but I suppose she must be of marriageable age by now. Well, I do congratulate you, my lord. A most desirable match, in terms of both birth and fortune. Not that you need it, of course, but the earl was reputed to be very wealthy, very wealthy indeed.” The lawyer looked inquiringly at Penworth, who looked enigmatically back.

  “The lady is a treasure in herself,” he said.

  Middleton sputtered on for a while and then departed with his boxes and his clerk, leaving Penworth to wonder just what had happened to Elsworth’s fortune. He supposed that he would have to investigate, for Anne’s sake if nothing else.

  By the time Penworth tracked down Wetherby at Brooks, what little good humor had survived the days with the lawyer had dissipated. He had spent the morning inventing increasingly implausible stories for recalcitrant bureaucratic clerks at Doctors’ Commons, where he needed to obtain a special license, and at London House, where he needed to speak to Bishop Randolph. Finally a message boy had taken pity on him, pulled him aside, and told him precisely the size of the bribe each of the various underlings required.

  Apparently things in London operated much the way things in Calcutta did. He gave the boy a guinea in gratitude and offered him a job. Penworth was now in possession of a special license, a promise from the Bishop of London to travel down to Greystone Manor to perform the ceremony, and a new servant. At least he knew what the first two were for. He was not sure what to do with the third, but had left him in the kitchen at the Penworth town house. One thing he did know about boys was that they could always eat, and he was sure the butler, Jacobs, would be able to find something for the boy to do.

  Wetherby was sprawled out dozing by the fireside—or what would have been the fireside had it not been far too warm a day for a fire. It seemed to be his habitual posture, regardless of the weather. Since it was unlikely that Wetherby was still sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s exertions at the club at three in the afternoon, he was probably just preparing for coming events. Penworth had no compunction about kicking his feet off the fender to wake him.

  Wetherby woke up with a few sputters before focusing sufficiently to recognize Penworth. “Philip! What are you doing back so soon? Surely Lady Hadlow’s charms have not palled already.”

  “I need you to stand up with me,” Penworth said baldly.

  “Stand up…? Oh my God, never say Hadlow has challenged you! The man must be deranged.”

  “It is not a duel, it is a wedding.”

  Wetherby goggled at him. “A wedding? Whose?”

  Penworth threw himself into the chair next to Wetherby’s. “Mine.” He raised a hand. “And before you ask, no, I am not joking.”

  Wetherby looked as if he did not quite believe this. “Are you sure you would not prefer a duel? If you manage not to get yourself killed, it is far less permanent.”

  Penworth simply glared at him, so Wetherby continued. “You left town only a few days ago. Since I know you have not been planning this, you must have been caught in a trap. How on earth did she manage it? It is only fair if you warn others of the pitfalls awaiting us.”

  “The lady set no trap, and did nothing wrong.” A guilty flush rose in Penworth’s face. “Indeed, she is the innocent party, and her behavior has been irreproachable. It was all an accident.”

  Since there was no one within earshot, he explained what had happened. Wetherby began by looking sympathetic but found it increasingly difficult. “She attacked you? With a candlestick? The man travels halfway around the globe, overcomes typhoons and pirates, murderous bandits and warring maharajahs, and is finally taken down by a chit with a candlestick?” He could no longer control himself, but roared with laughter. When he could speak again he asked, “Is she an Amazon?”

  “She is a lady,” said Penworth stiffly, “and she is to be my marchioness. I would appreciate it if you would remember that.”

  “Yes, of course,” Wetherby said. “Irreproachable.” He composed his face as best he could but the corners of his mouth kept twitching. “What is it you would like me to do?”

  “Come to Greystone Manor with me. I’ve arranged the special license, and the bishop is coming down for the wedding on Saturday. Lady Augusta had planned a ball on Friday evening and it is now a celebration ball. The tale is that we had been childhood sweethearts and fell so madly in love when we met again that we could not bear to wait any longer.”

  Wetherby looked dubious. “Well, that’s a romantic enough tale. Do you think anyone will believe it?”

  “Of course not. But I am a marquess, and Lady Anne is the daughter of an earl, so at least publicly everyone will pretend to believe it, and that’s enough.”

  Wetherby laughed lightly. “True, true.”

  Penworth still looked harried. “That’s not my problem at the moment. I’ve got the license and the bishop, but I do not know if there is anything else I am supposed to do. Marriage is not something I have much experience with.”

  “Hmm. Settlements?”

  Penworth shook his head. “Greystone is taking care of all that. All I will need to do is sign them.”

  “A gift? A betrothal ring? A wedding ring, certainly. Ought you to give her the family jewels or some such?”

  “Not family jewels,” said Penworth so fiercely that Wetherby was taken aback. Penworth shrugged in apology. “She’s welcome to them later if she wants them, but we will start out on our own path. Come with me. What jeweler does one go to for this sort of thing?” He stood and began dragging Wetherby to the door.

  “Uh, Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, I think. Or so my sister says. You want to go right now?”

  “We must. We will need to leave for Greystone first thing in the morning. I have to stop at my banker’s first, so do not dawdle.”

  Mr. Rundell was a happy man. He had in front of him a new customer, the Marquess of Penworth. The new Marquess of Penworth. And as every merchant in London—probably in all of England—knew by now, the new marquess had come back from India with a fortune. And unlike the old marquess, the new one actually paid bills. Everyone now knew that he had paid off all the mortgages on the estate; creditors who had despaired of ever seeing a penny had their bills paid in full, and even servants had received their back wages.

  Lest anyone doubt the existence of the fortune, there on the counter before him, spread out on a velvet cloth, were a dozen enormous and perfectly matched sapphires that the marquess had brought in to have made into a necklace for his bride. Mr. Rundell could scarce contain himself. A dozen, and each one was worth a small fortune.

  Mr. Welles, their brilliant young designer, was deep in discussion with the marquess. Should the sapphires be combined with diamonds, or perhaps set in filigree? Perhaps th
e marchioness should be consulted? Mr. Welles would draw up a few designs for the marquess to consider.

  Meanwhile, there was the question of rings and a gift for the bride. For a betrothal ring, the marquess chose a circle of diamonds surrounding a large, perfect pearl, and for the wedding ring a gold band engraved with a wreath, inscribed inside with only initials and the date.

  For a gift, however, he wanted something different.

  He looked dubiously at the trays of jewelry. “There will always be occasions for jewelry,” he said, “and it speaks more of the man’s wealth than the lady’s value. I want something that will be only for her. Nothing useful and nothing for display.”

  Mr. Rundell was now a worried man. Fate could not be so cruel as to bring him the marquess only to have him be lost for a lack of…of what? Not jewelry, understood. But what, then? Plate? He reached for an exquisite epergne, one of Mr. Welles’ finest pieces, worthy of Cellini, but he could see Mr. Welles giving a slight shake of his head and drew his hand back.

  “Perhaps,” said Mr. Welles in a suitably hesitant tone, “perhaps the bird?”

  Mr. Rundell began to breathe more easily. “Ah, yes, the bird.” He smiled at the marquess. “One moment while I fetch it.”

  “A bird?” whispered Wetherby. Penworth shrugged, prepared for disappointment.

  Mr. Rundell returned carrying an object draped with a cloth. He lifted it off. The object was indeed a bird, a bird about the size of a sparrow, but no such ordinary creature. This was a golden bird, a perfect bird of pale yellow gold, with every feather visible in the delicate carving. The bird’s eyes were blue lapis lazuli and the beak and feet were of reddish gold. It rested on a golden bough with leaves of green gemstones, growing from a small hill of green enamel. Mr. Rundle wound a key and pushed a lever. The bird raised its head, flapped its wings, and began to sing.

  Penworth smiled in delight. “Perfect.”

  By the time they left the shop, Wetherby was in a state of shock. “I do not care if it was made in Byzantium, it is still only a music box. I cannot believe how much you paid for it.”

  Philip shrugged. “Less than my grandfather spent on his mistresses in a month.”

  “Yes, but you are giving it to a woman you do not even know!”

  “I want her to know she is valued.”

  “Valued! She could probably live for the rest of her life on what you paid for that toy.”

  Penworth looked at his friend. “After we marry, I can, if I choose, go about my life much as before. Her life will be changed forever, and she has had no say in the matter. I want to assure her that it will be a change for the better.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In which our heroine is kept busy

  Jewels were also occupying the thoughts of the ladies at Greystone Manor. Lady Augusta was perturbed by the nonexistence of Lady Anne’s jewel case. “But what of your mother’s jewels? Surely you have them. I remember Elinor’s pearls—they cannot be lost.”

  “No, not lost.” Lady Anne gave an unladylike snort of irritation. “Aunt Craddock has them. At first Uncle Craddock said I was ‘too young’ for them, and now they are ‘not suitable’ for one in my position.”

  “Not suitable for Elinor’s daughter? Not suitable? The puffed up arrogance of that man is unbelievable. I shall certainly have something to say to him when we meet!”

  Anne shrugged. “It did not seem worthwhile to argue. I had no occasion to wear them, and if I angered him, my uncle might have taken them away and sold them from sheer spite. I planned to insist on their return when I reached my majority.”

  Lady Augusta huffed and set forth to do battle. Lady Anne recalled that during the Civil War a Greystone countess had, while her husband was off with the king, defended the castle against the Roundheads. The ruins of that castle could still be seen. Lady Anne hoped that Lady Augusta would be more successful. It seemed likely. After all, Aunt Craddock was hardly a Cromwell.

  In the hall, Lady Augusta stopped a footman. “James, do you know where Mrs. Craddock is?”

  “She is in her room with her daughter, my lady.”

  “Good. Come along, Anne. We can at least retrieve the pearls.”

  Dispensing with the footman, Lady Augusta knocked perfunctorily on Mrs. Craddock’s door and then threw it open and entered. Mrs. Craddock and Corinne, who had been looking through Corinne’s wardrobe and debating the virtues of various garments, looked up in surprise. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Craddock. I have been looking for you.”

  Lady Augusta smiled at Mrs. Craddock, and Mrs. Craddock relaxed. Anne noted both the smile and the relaxation. She had always known that Aunt Craddock was a fool. She almost felt some pity for her. Almost, but not quite.

  “I understand you have been keeping Lady Anne’s jewels for her. She will, of course, need them now that she is to be wed.”

  “Anne’s jewels?” Mrs. Craddock looked incredulous. “But…but she has no jewels.”

  “The ones she inherited from her mother,” said Lady Augusta in irritation and turned to Corinne. “You, child, go fetch your mother’s jewel case.” Corinne just stood there staring. She could not remember the last time someone had called her child or told her to do something. Lady Augusta waved an impatient hand at her. Not knowing what else to do, Corinne did as she had been told. “I do not imagine that you brought all of Elinor’s jewels here, but there should be something suitable for Anne to wear. Ah, bring the box here, child.”

  Lady Augusta opened the case, and lying on top was a velvet bag. She lifted it and poured out the double strand of glowing pearls. “Good, the pearls are here.” She smiled nostalgically as the pearls slid through her fingers. “I remember the first time she wore them. They were Elsworth’s gift when you were born. She would have been so happy to see you wear them at your wedding.”

  Mrs. Craddock had been simmering and now boiled over. “No! Those are my pearls. Mr. Craddock gave them to me.”

  Lady Augusta pinned her with a glare. “Madame, your husband may have allowed you to wear them, but he could not have given them to you because they were not his to give. Elinor’s jewelry was left to her daughter. I am sure the attorney who handled the estate will have the full listing, so that all the jewels can be retrieved. For now, the pearls will do.”

  With that, she swept from the room, taking Anne with her and leaving Mrs. Craddock clutching her plundered jewelry case.

  Could I have done that? Anne wondered. Could I have simply demanded…? No, she thought regretfully. What succeeded for Lady Augusta, sister of the wealthy Earl of Greystone, would not have succeeded for Lady Anne, the impoverished daughter of the late Earl of Elsworth. But, and she smiled at the thought, in future it would succeed for the wife of the wealthy Marquess of Penworth.

  It was petty, she knew. It was not kind or charitable or understanding or any of those things a good person should be. But oh, how she relished the prospect of putting her aunt and cousin in their place. I am not good, she thought. I cannot help thinking that it will be a great pleasure to see Uncle Craddock forced to bow to my husband and to me.

  When Mrs. Gant, the seamstress, arrived, even though she was only the village seamstress and not a real London modiste, Anne began to accept that her life was truly changing.

  Mrs. Gant seemed determined that her life was about to change as well. She arrived flushed with ambition and laden down with fashion plates, bolts of fabric, and assurances that additional fabrics could be obtained from a silk warehouse in London in no time at all. “You’ll see, my lady,” she said. “I can provide you with gowns as fine and fashionable as any you could find in Paris.”

  “And she can,” said Lady Augusta, adding her own assurances.

  Anne didn’t care. Well, she did care, but just the prospect of having new clothes made specifically for her, not hand-me-downs altered to suit Aunt Craddock’s ideas of what was suitable, was making her almost giddy with delight.

  Millie and Marie joined them, removing Anne’s dress�
�the green striped muslin again—while Lady Augusta clucked over it. “I really cannot imagine what your uncle was thinking to allow you to go about so ill-dressed. I shall certainly give him a piece of my mind when I see him.”

  Anne’s undergarments made Mrs. Gant frown. “You’ll need to be fitted for a corset or two as well. I’ve brought a few of the longer, gusseted ones and this one might fit well enough to give us an idea.” She pulled out a pink cotton garment that was indeed gusseted and shaped, quite unlike the straight stays Anne was accustomed to wearing.

  Just having it laced up over her old shift made Anne feel better—different but definitely better. When she looked in the mirror, she could see that she had a far more definite shape than she’d had before.

  “The most fashionable bodices today come down in a V at the waist,” Mrs. Gant said, giving the corset a tug, “and with the gored skirts you need a corset that gives you a smooth line. Oh yes, you have just the shape for it.”

  The seamstress then brought out some garments she had basted together. “I use these for display,” she explained, “but if any of them might do, one could be ready for you to wear tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. She might have a new dress tomorrow. What a lovely thought. Anne sighed with pleasure. But then she took a better look at the garments.

  The first one was a very fine, almost sheer, white batiste, embellished with embroidery, with huge puffs of sleeves. “Goodness,” she said, “it’s exquisite, but completely impractical. I wouldn’t dare to do anything wearing a dress like that for fear of ruining it.”

  Lady Augusta looked amused. “Of course it’s impractical. There is never anything practical about fashion. After all, Anne, the whole point is to show that you need not do anything, just sit in splendid repose.”

  Anne couldn’t quite imagine herself sitting and doing absolutely nothing, and it would be a waste of the dress’s beauty to wear it if she was going to sit in the library and read, but perhaps when visitors came to call… She would, of course, be very careful not to spill anything on it.