How to Marry a Marquis

by Julia Quinn

  “It’s a gourd,” Elizabeth ground out. “May we leave it at that?”

  Lady Danbury waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t grow in England. Therefore I have no use for it.”

  Elizabeth felt herself begin to slouch. Lady Danbury was exhausting.

  The countess in question whipped her head around to face her. “I’m not through with you, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth would have groaned, had she had time before Lady D sharply added, “And sit up straight.”

  Elizabeth stood.

  “Now, then,” Lady Danbury continued, “I worked very hard to convince you to attend my party. I obtained a costume for you—a very becoming costume, I might add—and you repay me by not even paying your respects in the receiving line? I was most insulted. Most—”

  “Maaaaaawwwwwww!”

  Lady Danbury looked up in time to see Lucas and Jane run screaming down the hall. “What are they doing to my cat?” she demanded.

  Elizabeth craned her neck. “I’m not certain if they are chasing Malcolm or if he is chasing them.”

  Caroline perked up. “I’d be happy to go and investigate.”

  Elizabeth let one of her hands land heavily on Caroline’s arm. “Please,” she said too sweetly, “stay.”

  “Elizabeth,” Lady Danbury barked, “are you going to answer me?”

  Elizabeth blinked in confusion. “Had you asked me a question?”

  “Where were you? Why did you not attend?”

  “I…I…” Elizabeth floundered for words. She certainly couldn’t tell the truth—that she’d been out being seduced by her nephew.

  “Well?”

  Knock knock knock.

  Elizabeth shot out of the room like a bullet. “Must answer the door,” she called out over her shoulder.

  “You’ll not escape me, Lizzie Hotchkiss!” she heard Lady Danbury yell. She also thought she heard Caroline mutter the word “traitor” under her breath, but by then Elizabeth was already consumed with worry that it might be James standing on the other side of the heavy oak door.

  She took a deep breath. If he was there, there was nothing she could do about it. She swung open the door.

  “Oh, good day, Mr. Ravenscroft.” Now, why did she feel so disappointed?

  “Miss Hotchkiss.” He nodded. “Is my wife here?”

  “Yes, in the sitting room with Lady Danbury.”

  Blake winced. “Perhaps I’ll come back later.…”

  “Blake?” they heard Caroline call out—in a rather desperate sort of a voice. “Is that you?”

  Elizabeth nudged Blake in the arm. “Too late.”

  Blake shuffled into the sitting room, the expression on his face precisely that of an eight-year-old boy about to be scolded for a prank involving a frog and a pillowcase.

  “Blake.” Caroline’s voice practically sang with relief.

  “Lady Danbury,” he murmured.

  “Blake Ravenscroft!” Lady Danbury exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you since you were eight years old.”

  “I’ve been hiding.”

  “Hmmph. All of you are growing far too cheeky in my old age.”

  “And how are you faring these days?” Blake inquired.

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Lady D warned.

  Caroline turned to Elizabeth and whispered, “Is there a subject?”

  Lady Danbury narrowed her eyes and shook her finger at Blake. “I still haven’t finished talking to you about the time you put that frog in poor Miss Bowater’s pillowcase.”

  “She was a terrible governess,” Blake replied, “and besides, it was all James’s idea.”

  “I’m sure it was, but you should have had the moral rectitude to—” Lady Danbury cut herself off rather suddenly, and shot an uncharacteristically panicked glance at Elizabeth, who then remembered that her employer didn’t know that she had discovered James’s true identity.

  Elizabeth, not wanting to touch that as a potential source of conversation, turned and studied her fingernails assiduously. After a moment, she looked up, blinked, feigned surprise, and asked, “Were you speaking to me?”

  “No,” Lady D replied in a puzzled voice. “I didn’t even mention your name.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said, thinking she might have overdone the not-paying-attention act. “I saw you looking at me, and—”

  “No matter,” Lady Danbury said quickly. She turned back to Blake and opened her mouth, presumably to scold him, but nothing came out.

  Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Poor Lady Danbury wanted so desperately to scold Blake for some two-decades-old schoolboy prank, but she couldn’t, because that would lead to a mention of James, about whom she thought Elizabeth didn’t know the truth, and—

  “Tea, anyone?” Susan staggered into the room under the weight of an overloaded tea service.

  “Just the thing!” Lady Danbury looked ready to vault out of her chair in her haste to have the subject changed.

  This time Elizabeth did laugh. Dear God, when had she managed to develop a sense of humor about this fiasco?

  “Elizabeth?” Caroline whispered. “Are you laughing?”

  “No.” Cough. “I’m coughing.”

  Caroline muttered something under her breath that Elizabeth did not interpret as a compliment.

  Susan set the tea service down on a table with a loud clatter, then was cut off by Lady Danbury, who yanked her chair closer in and announced, “I will pour.”

  Susan stepped back, bumping into Blake, who then sidled up to his wife and whispered, “All this charming tableau needs is James.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Elizabeth muttered, making no apologies for eavesdropping.

  “Lady Danbury doesn’t know that Elizabeth knows,” Caroline whispered.

  “What are you three whispering about?” Lady D barked.

  “Nothing!” It would have been difficult to discern which of the threesome yelled the word the loudest.

  Silence reigned as Lady Danbury handed a cup of tea to Susan, then Blake leaned over and whispered, “Did I hear a knock?”

  “Stop your teasing,” Caroline scolded.

  “It was the cat,” Elizabeth said firmly.

  “You have a cat?” Blake asked.

  “It’s Lady Danbury’s cat.”

  “Where is my cat?” Lady D asked.

  “She hears everything,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “I heard that!”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

  “You seem in rather good spirits today,” Blake commented.

  “It is far too exhausting to be distraught. I have decided to return to my previous custom of making the best of the worst.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Blake murmured, “because I just saw James ride up.”

  “What?” Elizabeth whipped around to look out the window. “I don’t see him.”

  “He already rode past.”

  “What are you three talking about?” demanded Lady Danbury.

  “I thought you said she heard everything,” Caroline mentioned.

  Lady Danbury turned to Susan and said, “Your sister looks as if she’s about to suffer an apoplectic fit.”

  “She’s looked like that since last night,” Susan said.

  Lady D hooted with laughter. “I like your sister, Elizabeth. If you ever up and get married on me, I want her for my new companion.”

  “I’m not getting married,” Elizabeth said, more out of habit than anything else.

  Which caused both Ravenscrofts to turn and look at her with dubious expressions.

  “I’m not!”

  That was when the pounding began on the door.

  Blake raised a brow. “And you say you’re not getting married,” he murmured.

  “Elizabeth!” Lady Danbury barked. “Shouldn’t you be answering the door?”

  “I had considered ignoring it,” Elizabeth mumbled.

  Lucas and Jane chose that moment to appear in the doorway.

>   “Do you want me to answer the door?” Jane asked.

  “I think I lost Lady Danbury’s cat,” Lucas added.

  Lady D dropped her teacup. “Where is my poor Malcolm?”

  “Well, he ran into the kitchen, and then out into the garden, and then behind the turnip patch, and—”

  “I could waltz to the doorknob,” Jane added. “I need to practice.”

  “Malcolm!” Lady D howled. “Here, kitty kitty!”

  Elizabeth turned around to scowl at Caroline and Blake, both of whom were shaking with uncontrollable silent laughter.

  Lucas said, “I don’t think he’s going to hear you from here, Lady Danbury.”

  The banging grew louder. Apparently Jane had decided to circle around the hall before angling off to the front door.

  Then James started to bellow Elizabeth’s name, followed by a rather irritated, “Open this door at once!”

  Elizabeth sagged onto a cushioned bench, fighting the absurd impulse to laugh. If the temperature in the room were only a few degrees hotter, she’d swear she was in hell.

  James Sidwell, Marquis of Riverdale, was not in a good mood. His temperament couldn’t even be classified as passably polite. He had been climbing the walls all morning, practically chaining himself to his bed to keep from going to Elizabeth.

  He’d wanted to call upon her first thing, but no, both Caroline and Blake had insisted that he give her a little time. She was overwrought, they’d said. Better to wait until her emotions weren’t running quite so high.

  So he’d waited. Against his better judgment, and, more importantly as pertained to his temper, against his natural instinct, he’d waited. And then, when he’d finally gone to the Ravenscrofts’ room to ask them if they thought he’d waited long enough, he’d found a note from Caroline to Blake, explaining that she’d gone out to the Hotchkiss cottage.

  And then he’d found a note from Blake to himself, saying much the same thing.

  And then, to add insult to injury, as he’d dashed through Danbury House’s great hall, the butler had stopped him to mention that the countess had gone out to the Hotchkiss cottage.

  The only damned creature who hadn’t made the mile-long journey was the blasted cat.

  “Elizabeth!” James bellowed, pounding his fist against the surprisingly well-made and sturdy door. “Let me in this instant or I swear I’ll—”

  The door abruptly swung open. James looked out into nothingness, then redirected his gaze several inches down. Little Jane Hotchkiss was standing in the doorway, beaming up at him. “Good day, Mr. Siddons,” she chirped, extending her hand. “I’m learning to waltz.”

  James reluctantly faced the fact that he couldn’t barrel past a nine-year-old girl and live with his conscience. “Miss Jane,” he replied. “It’s fine to see you again.”

  She wiggled her fingers.

  He blinked.

  She wiggled them again.

  “Oh, right,” he said quickly, leaning down to kiss her hand. Apparently once you’d kissed a little girl’s hand, you were obligated to repeat the gesture for the rest of her childhood.

  “It’s a fine day, don’t you think?” Jane asked, affecting her most grown-up accent.

  “Yes, I…” His words trailed off as he glanced past her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was causing such a commotion in the sitting room. His aunt was bellowing about something, Lucas was yelling something else, and then Susan came tearing out, scooting across the hall and into the kitchen.

  “I found him!” Susan yelled.

  Then, much to James’s astonishment, an obese ball of fur trotted out of the kitchen, crossed the hall, and sauntered into the sitting room.

  Damn. Even the bloody cat had managed to get here before he had.

  “Jane,” he said with what he thought was a heroic measure of patience, “I really need to speak with your sister.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  No, Susan. “Yes, Elizabeth,” he said slowly.

  “Oh. She’s in the sitting room. But I should warn you”—Jane cocked her head flirtatiously—“she’s very busy. We’ve had a lot of guests this afternoon.”

  “I know,” James muttered, waiting for Jane to move so that he wouldn’t run her over on his way to the sitting room.

  “Maw!”

  “That cat is not very well-behaved,” Jane said primly, showing no signs of moving now that she had a new topic of conversation. “He has been whining like that all day.”

  James noticed that his hands had balled into impatient fists. “Really?” he asked, as politely as he was able. If he used a tone of voice that reflected how he was really feeling, the little girl would probably run screaming in the other direction.

  And the path to Elizabeth’s heart definitely did not include reducing her younger sister to tears.

  Jane nodded. “He is a terrible cat.”

  “Jane,” James said, squatting down to her level, “could I speak with Elizabeth now?”

  The little girl swept aside. “Of course. You should have asked.”

  James resisted the urge to comment further. Instead, he thanked Jane, kissed her hand again for good measure, and then strode off to the sitting room, where, much to his great surprise and slight amusement, he found Elizabeth on her hands and knees.

  “Malcolm,” Elizabeth hissed, “you get out from under that cabinet right now.”

  Malcolm sniffed.

  “Right now, you miserable little kitty.”

  “Do not refer to my cat as a miserable little kitty,” Lady Danbury boomed.

  Elizabeth reached out and tried to grab the recalcitrant furball. The recalcitrant furball replied with a claw-filled swipe of his paw.

  “Lady Danbury,” Elizabeth announced without lifting her head, “this cat is a monster.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Malcolm is nature’s perfect kitty, and you know it.”

  “Malcolm,” Elizabeth muttered, “is the spawn of the devil.”

  “Elizabeth Hotchkiss!”

  “It’s true.”

  “Just last week you said he was a wonderful cat.”

  “Last week he was being nice to me. If I recall, you called him a traitor.”

  Lady Danbury sniffed as she watched Elizabeth try to grab the cat again. “He is clearly overset because those beastly children were chasing him around the house.”

  That was it! Elizabeth hauled herself to her feet, fixed a deadly stare in Lady Danbury’s direction, and growled, “No one calls Lucas and Jane beasts but me!”

  What ensued wasn’t quite utter silence. Blake was audibly laughing under his hand, and Lady Danbury was sputtering about, making strange gurgling noises, and blinking so hard that Elizabeth would swear she could hear her eyelids clamp shut.

  But nothing would have prepared her for the sound of slow clapping coming from behind her. Elizabeth turned slowly around, twisting to face the doorway.

  James. Standing there with an impressed half-smile and an arched eyebrow. He cocked his head at his aunt, saying, “I can’t remember the last time I heard anyone speak to you that way, Aunt.”

  “Except you!” Lady D retorted. Then, realizing he’d just called her “aunt,” she started sputtering anew, jerking her head in Elizabeth’s direction.

  “It’s all right,” James said. “She knows everything.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since last night.”

  Lady Danbury turned to Elizabeth and snapped, “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask!” Then Elizabeth turned back to James and growled, “How long have you been standing there?”

  “I saw you crawling under the cabinet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Elizabeth fought an inner groan. She’d managed to grab hold of Jane and beg her to stall James, and she’d been hoping that Jane would have kept him in the hall at least until she’d managed to return the blooming cat to Lady Danbury.

  She hadn’t really wanted James’s first view of her
after last night’s debacle to be of her swishing behind.

  When she got her hands on that cat…

  “Why,” Lady Danbury shrilled, “did no one inform me of the change in James’s public identity?”

  “Blake,” Caroline said, tugging on her husband’s arm, “this might be our cue to leave.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to,” James said forcefully. He crossed the room and grabbed hold of Elizabeth’s hand. “You are all welcome to stay and enjoy your tea, but Elizabeth and I are leaving.”

  “Wait a moment,” she protested, making an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve her hand. “You can’t do this.”

  He stared at her blankly. “I can’t do what?”

  “This!” she retorted. “You have no rights over me—”

  “I will,” he said, flashing her a very confident, very male smile.

  “Bad strategy on his part,” Caroline whispered to Blake.

  Elizabeth clawed her hands, trying desperately to contain her anger. “This is my house,” she ground out. “If anyone is going to invite my guests to enjoy themselves, it will be I.”

  “Then do it,” James returned.

  “And you cannot order me to leave with you.”

  “I didn’t. I told your assorted guests—all of whom I gather were uninvited—that we were leaving.”

  “He’s bungling this badly,” Caroline whispered to Blake.

  Elizabeth crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  James’s expression became positively menacing.

  “If he’d only asked her nicely…” Caroline whispered to Blake.

  “Blake,” James said, “muzzle your wife.”

  Blake laughed, which earned him a rather solid punch in the arm from his wife.

  “And you,” James said to Elizabeth. “I’ve had all that my patience will allow. We need to talk. We can either do it outside or do it here, in front of my aunt, your siblings, and”—here he jerked a hand toward Caroline and Blake—“these two.”

  Elizabeth swallowed nervously, frozen with indecision.

  James leaned in closer. “You decide, Elizabeth.”

  She did nothing, strangely unable to make her mouth form words.