It's Marriage Or Ruin

by Liz Tyner

Now he had the rest of his life to sort out, and was seeing no colours. Only the clouds in the sky and a smattering of rain.

  He stopped, pulled himself on to the horse and planned the chores he needed done before he could move.

  Carpenters.

  Marcus had ridden to the near ruin years before and the sight of it had caused a knot in his chest. The place had scarcely resembled the site of his grandmother chasing him, flapping her bonnet at him, saying she had to get the galloping horse out of her house. He’d loved running into the room and neighing. Even when she couldn’t get up, she’d rail because someone had seemingly let a horse indoors.

  The memories pushed him forward while he found a carpenter who needed work and knew of a few others who could help with the repairs.

  * * *

  When he returned to the town house, he’d wanted the first face he saw to be Emilie’s, but Robert met him at the door.

  The valet had a firm set to his lips and his mouth moved silently before he spoke. ‘I presume you had a pleasant day.’ Robert took his coat.

  ‘It went well.’

  Marcus walked over, seeing Emilie’s sketchbook where she’d left it behind. He flipped through it, seeing sketches of her mother, her father, her sisters, and then one of his brother, Nathaniel. He ground his teeth together, turning a page. There, with a few lines, was another drawing. A few lines, no more. The likeness of his ring in the corner led him to believe the likeness was to be of him.

  But it certainly wasn’t filled in.

  Robert grumbled, pulling Marcus’s attention, and he dropped the book.

  Robert bunched the coat in his hands.

  ‘Could you speak to your wife? Perhaps move her and keep us here?’ Robert asked with an unusually gentle tone.

  ‘Not likely.’ Marcus spoke casually, standing perfectly still, hoping the situation was not too severe. ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She does not treat me with the respect due to me,’ Robert said, draping Marcus’s squashed coat casually over his arm.

  ‘As the valet or the Duke?’ he asked.

  ‘Neither.’ Robert ground out the word and motioned for Marcus to precede him up the stairs.

  Marcus waited.

  Robert continued. ‘I do not even want her to speak with me. I am your servant, not hers. And she orders me for no reason.’ He held his bearing high. ‘I am a valet. Not a lady’s maid. Valet. Is that so hard to understand?’

  Marcus refrained from mentioning the many stretches Robert hadn’t seemed to understand he was a valet.

  Robert made his voice a falsetto. ‘Get me some water, Robert. Adjust the window. Bring me a shawl. Take the shawl to my room. Sweep the floor in front of my dainty little feet.’

  He faced Marcus, and shuddered. ‘She even followed me to my bedchamber and didn’t go away when I didn’t answer. Highly inappropriate. She opened the door.’ His voice increased on the last word. ‘I was on my bed reading—reading, Lord Grayson—and she commanded me to get her a glass of water.’

  When he finished the recital, Robert couldn’t contain the movement of his arms. Marcus’s coat was flapping about. And he knew that Robert rarely addressed him as Lord.

  ‘Water. A glass of water? To ferret out my chambers took her much effort and she didn’t even want the water that I got for her. I graciously forced myself to get it because I wanted to please her so she would leave me be—and she dunked a paintbrush in it.’

  ‘I will get her a lady’s maid.’ Marcus’s voice flowed lullaby smooth.

  The valet forced words past his lips, enunciating each one. ‘I have sent a servant to wait on her, but that unwelcome person still seeks me out.’ Robert ran a hand through his white hair. ‘This isn’t the turn of events I expected. You have married in haste and I will repent in leisure.’

  They went to the stairs.

  Robert continued, affecting a woman’s voice as he followed Marcus. ‘“Open the door a crack. No, that is too open. No, that is too closed.”’

  As they topped the stairs, Emilie waited, listening, and Marcus gave her a slight smile.

  When Robert saw her, he said, politely to Marcus, ‘May I get you something, Lord Grayson?’

  Twice, Marcus thought, twice Robert had addressed him as Lord Grayson. The man was upset.

  He stared at Robert for a brief moment. Robert had a most calm demeanour, but a few strands of his hair were sticking straight up and that was not something Marcus had seen before.

  Emilie glared at Robert and Robert looked over her as if she were not there.

  ‘Marc.’ Her head was high. ‘The servant...’ she pointed a finger at Robert ‘...threw a book at me.’

  Robert glared at her. ‘It is not fitting for you to be in this servant’s bedchamber and I was merely bouncing it from the door in frustration in the hopes you would notice said door and leave.’

  ‘You were disgraceful,’ she said. ‘To throw a book.’

  His voice was calm, eyes serene. He spoke softly. ‘I didn’t have a dagger.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Marc.’ She turned to him and her arm reached out so that she nearly thumped Robert.

  The valet raised his chin. He held Marcus’s coat as a matador might hold a cape and fluttered it towards Emilie.

  ‘How can you allow this?’ Emilie cried. ‘You must defend my honour. You must send him packing at once. You can easily find someone to replace him.’

  Robert gasped.

  Marcus ran a hand through his hair. ‘I would like some help in the sitting room, Robert.’

  ‘I would most like to help you, Lord Grayson. Anything you might ask is a joy for me to do. I live to serve you, as I have done practically since—’ he swaggered ‘—your birth. You were the most superb charge a tutor could have.’

  The minute they both were alone, Robert shut the door and wilted. He thrust himself into the wall, crashing against it.

  ‘Are you replacing me?’ Robert asked. ‘Has that woman bewitched you?’ He turned to Marcus, a catch in his voice. ‘I did save your life.’

  ‘I have no plans for sending you away, Robert. But it would be best if you could get along with Emilie.’

  Robert lifted Marcus’s coat and brushed the dust free, but he was doing it with the force necessary to dislodge boulders. He muttered, ‘We have not seen yet if you can get along with her. I assume she dabbles in the black arts. That is the only way I can fathom this disaster.’

  Marcus settled in the chair that moulded around his frame from the many hours he’d sat in it. He inclined as far back into it as he could and turned to ease the tension in his neck. ‘I will tell her to treat you with respect as you and I have known each other for many years.’

  Robert trembled as he took out his anger on any object which dared to cling to the coat. He picked at the wool.

  ‘It is understandable she’s unfamiliar with the town house, a new husband and servants. I would think you could help her adjust.’ Marcus tried to make peace. ‘You are irreplaceable, Robert. We have blood ties.’

  Robert’s anger disappeared and he seemed pleased with the coat. ‘She upsets very easily.’

  ‘Do not make things worse.’ Marcus cocked a brow. ‘You’d best pray to watch your words with Emilie.’

  Robert huffed. ‘I did not mean to upset her. I may have mentioned that you had been confused about whether to put Nathaniel’s name or your own on the licence, but I would have never done so had she not pushed me to the end of my tether six times.’

  ‘Do not mention the licence again. Neither to me nor her.’ Marcus glared at the older man. ‘I will not let you go. But I will empty a chamber pot over you if you do not watch your speech.’ Marcus knew his next threat to Robert would have to do with cigars and brandy. Robert would listen then.

  ‘Your lordship...’ Robert shuddered. ‘I fear you hav
e condemned yourself by bringing a haughty bumpkin into this household who does not appreciate you or the fine things you provide.’ He mocked her voice again. ‘Things here are “not as pleasant” as she is used to. There are more birds in the trees there. The grass is of a deeper green. The sky is a deeper blue. To hear her speak, the insects part to each side of her as she glides above the grass. To have this woman ordering me about... This woman whom you graced with marriage. A woman you went out of your way to provide a special licence for and take great care with her reputation, which would be enhanced by her nearness to the Westbrook family.’ Robert spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I do not know if I can keep peace in this household. The honeymoon is over.’

  ‘Robert, please, for me, try to appease her, or I will move and leave you both here.’ Marcus touched a hand to his knee.

  Robert sputtered. ‘I would not stay. I wager she and Nathaniel would get along well, but I would not remain. I will search you out. And give you a reporting.’

  Marcus focused on Robert. Why had Robert, who favoured him above Nate, thought Emilie would get along so well with Nathaniel?

  ‘What rubbish.’ He heard her voice before she entered the room.

  She held a book up. ‘This is nothing but rot. You are reading this filth?’

  Robert’s book that he had got from the Huddleston’s man.

  ‘My pardon.’ Robert followed behind her, reaching over and slipping the book from her hand. ‘I’m reading that masterpiece of literary accomplishment.’

  ‘I will never act as this fish-brain describes... Ha. And, I repeat, never. It is a book on how a woman should manage a household.’

  ‘Leave, Robert.’

  ‘Farewell.’ Robert bowed and obeyed the command, holding the book to his chest. ‘I endeavour to study this and take notes, in case they are needed.’

  She went to Marcus’s desk and picked up the ink bottle, studying it. ‘The servant refused to even read the list of paints I needed. I had no funds to give to the maid to purchase them either and the shopkeeper would not give her credit.’

  She put the paper down and picked up his ledger book. He rose, reached out and took it from her hands. ‘Make your list. And I’ll see you get enough to last you.’

  She took the stopper from the ink bottle, then plopped it back on.

  ‘Ah. I can do that.’ She rubbed her palms together. ‘I’ll get plenty and have extra for a likeness of Robert, a true portrayal.’

  He could imagine that any representation of Robert she created would incite an explosion. He’d best get them all to the country as soon as possible. It wouldn’t do him any good to see either her or Robert on the scaffold. He’d have lost both a wife and valet, and no one would be happy.

  Much like today.

  ‘You must not let Robert come with us to the country.’ She wafted by him. ‘He is rude.’

  ‘My dear, he will be moving with us. And you must be pleasant to him.’ He suspected Robert was more unsettled by Emilie’s lack of gratitude for her new place in the family than concerned for his own permanence.

  ‘You would choose him over me.’

  ‘It is not a choice,’ he said. ‘I have you both.’ He had a part of her, but such a tiny part that he wasn’t sure it mattered.

  He stretched, yawning, but she was out of reach of his fingertips. He felt his body ready itself to join her.

  He ground his teeth together and observed her. The longing turned to insistence.

  ‘Robert is too forward,’ she said.

  ‘He is very forward.’ How could she speak of Robert? Of all the men in his family, she ignored only one.

  ‘He drinks your brandy.’

  ‘He smokes my cigars and, if he sees a shirt I have that he likes, he orders one for himself and I am billed for it.’

  ‘Does he have a hold over you?’

  ‘When I was a child, Robert saved me at the risk of his own death when he threw himself between me and a runaway horse. He jumped forward, pitching me aside, and could have died when the hooves hit him. He had been my tutor a week and had told me to stay inside to finish my lessons. I didn’t. He followed me.’

  ‘That is valiant.’

  ‘My first tutor was perfection. Perfection. Until I heard a thump in the night and found him pushing a maid against the wall and her crying out for help. I didn’t understand. Father hadn’t been home for weeks so I couldn’t expect his help. I ran to get the butler, and he tossed the man out the door. My parents were informed and my mother brought Robert to me as a tutor, without my father’s agreement. There was a tremendous row. But then he rescued me the next week and Father accepted him well enough.’

  ‘You will not dismiss him.’

  ‘No. Besides that, he is my mother’s half-brother. Before my grandfather eventually wed my grandmother, his mistress had a child. Robert was the child and my grandfather and grandmother recognised him as family.’

  Robert had never lived within the household, yet on occasion he’d been discussed as a family member.

  ‘He is not to mention the reasons of our marriage to either you or me again. I warn you he may forget. You can speak to me and I will correct him.’ Marcus understood that sometimes his uncle did speak too bluntly.

  Emilie appeared to accept Robert’s birth without question, more concerned with her own marriage than his grandparents’.

  ‘He is not to mention it to you?’ she asked.

  He could smell the mix of roses with a hint of turpentine—Emilie—which almost annoyed his nose but pleased the rest of him.

  ‘No, I do not like to be reminded of it.’ Even his mouth changed as he felt her move towards him.

  The surprise of it caused him to release his hold on her hand and she pulled away.

  ‘If he could have died to save you, then you cannot send him packing.’

  ‘Emilie.’ He spoke with the command of generations of the peerage and his voice didn’t rise, but could have carried a great distance.

  She stopped at the sound.

  ‘I have to sort out who we are to be. Who I am to be.’

  ‘You are the future Marquess of Avondale. That is plenty for one man.’ She spun away from him. The door shut behind her and the gentle click of it sounded like a death knell to him.

  She’d said it didn’t matter to her who he was, because he was Marcus Westbrook, the future Marquess. He believed her. He was the man who gave her the paints and brushes and would take her to the country and let her have her way.

  Now he knew how the victims of the cutpurses felt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The bouncing of the vehicle jarred the uneasiness inside her. The corset had been tied snug and it pinched with every movement of the carriage. With each jostle, she tensed her feet to keep steady.

  Marcus had flicked a glance in her direction, but he’d not said anything when she’d chosen the opposing seat in the coach, facing the road behind them.

  The trip loomed in front of her and she dreaded their arrival.

  She hoped she was up to the task of instructing the housekeeper, or that the servants would handle things well enough that no one needed direction. As one of Avondale’s properties, Stormhaven would be elaborate and beyond the status Emilie was accustomed to.

  But not as much as the marriage was. She’d considered the plight directly in front of her when she’d agreed to marry. Not the future. She’d not reflected beyond her work. Her mother had complained that the scent of oils would be the death of Emilie, but she’d not listened. Nor had she thought of it spinning her into a maze that had no escape.

  She had yoked herself to a man who would be in society—and she would be expected to comport herself as a countess. Her insides seized. She’d not considered that when she had agreed to the marriage.

  But Marcus—at least on appearance—would be a jewel in an
y artist’s crown.

  He wore his clothes so well. She held herself firm when the carriage jostled them together. The heat of his skin caused her leg to prickle. The aliveness of him. Touching him gave her more feeling than when she viewed a masterpiece.

  She watched the dust they were leaving behind, swirling about like fragments of her soul escaping.

  Her husband rode across from her. Silent.

  At first, he sat much like a general on a venture into a new mission might appear, hair trimmed neatly at his ears, his coat and clothing pressed. Tiredness in his face.

  ‘You really look nothing like Nathaniel,’ she said.

  His glare didn’t change, but his attention snapped to her, causing a warning, although she didn’t know why. ‘That night at the dance, when I confused the two of you, I can’t understand how I did it. Except, I had been examining the painting and I didn’t want anyone to know that I had tears in my eyes. I couldn’t look at anyone directly. To be observed crying at a dance would have been disastrous. No one would have believed it was because of the art.’

  Then he reclined back and stretched his legs. His face softened. ‘Art makes you weep?’

  ‘Some art. And I cannot explain why. It just happens.’

  ‘I’ve never felt that way.’ His quiet words were revealing about him, not meant as a criticism of her. He returned to thoughts only known to him, but he appeared less like a general on a mission, even with his arms folded, and more like a man on the way to sleep.

  * * *

  During the trip, the bounces had moved Marcus into the middle of the seat across from her and she’d confined herself so they would not bounce into each other.

  Finally, he shut his eyes and relaxed.

  His knee bumped against hers.

  She didn’t know if he remained awake. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep because his features softened and his leg angled against her skirts.

  By the curve of his lips, he was having a pleasant dream.

  His knee bumped her again.

  He gave no indication he had noticed, but his leg tipped a little more against hers.