Mary said, “Would you please? My brother, Mr. Weatherby, has paid a call,” she said, with particular emphasis on the ‘Weatherby’.
“Oh, it’s vera nice to meet you, Mr. Weatherby,” Jane Parker said as she turned her attention on Roger. “I’m Parker.”
The valet stared at the blonde-haired maid, his mouth dropping open in awe. “Hullo,” he managed to get out before coming to his feet.
The maid blushed. “Oh, you needn’t stand up on my account,” she murmured as she shook her head. The blonde curls surrounding her face bobbed about with her words. Her gaze had already gone to the brass-topped cane, its intricate carving suggesting its owner was a man of some means. As did his clothes.
Jane dared a quick glance at Mary before she turned back to Roger and found that he had taken her hand in his to kiss the back of it.
“’Tis very good to meet you, my lady,” he said when he straightened.
The comely maid who stood before him dimpled. “Oh, I’m not a lady,” she replied, her slight smile accompanied by vibrant eyes and a perfect nose. “You can call me Jane,” she offered.
“Roger,” he countered. He dared a glance over at his sister, whose mouth had dropped open at the same time her brow furrowed. “I was here to pay a call on my sister, but we’re all caught up now. Might you join us?” he asked.
Jane blinked. “I’d like that,” she said, her own gaze darting to Mary, as if she were seeking permission.
“That would be splendid. Then the two of you can be the first to know that Rodney...” She paused and turned her attention on her brother. “One of the footmen here at Stanton House... has proposed marriage. I was just about to ask for my brother’s blessing.”
Her eyes wide at hearing this bit of on-dit, Jane said, “Why, it’s about time.”
Mary’s jaw dropped, and she stared at her brother as if she expected him to scold her. But Roger was still staring at Jane as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Her lightning.
“You have my blessing,” Roger said, his attention entirely on the delectable housemaid. “Tell me, Miss Parker. Are you... married?” He offered his arm and indicated the chair adjacent to his.
Jane sat down and angled her head. “I am not. Nor am I courting anyone,” she replied, oblivious to the fact that Mary had stood up and was making her way to the door.
“Are you... interested in marriage?”
“Isn’t every young woman?”
Roger blinked. “I can’t say I was aware they all were, but I am heartened to hear you are. Tell me, might I be allowed to call on you? Take you for a ride in the park, perhaps? Or if you’re able to step away from your duties for a few minutes, perhaps we could walk in the park?”
Meanwhile...
Mary hurried up to the first floor and ducked into several bedchambers before finally finding Rodney in a guest bedchamber overlooking the side garden. “There you are,” she murmured, moving to join him at the window.
“Is it done then? Are you going to marry the valet?”
Mary screwed up her face as she lifted a finger to his cheek, forcing him to turn in her direction. “Now why would I go off and marry a valet from a household in South Audley Street when I could marry you and live right here?” she asked with a teasing grin.
Rodney inhaled and slowly let out the breath. “Why, indeed?” He gave a nod. “I promise, I’ll only tup you,” he added, straightening to his full six-foot, two-inch height.
“Good. Because I think Mr. Weatherby is about to propose to Jane, and he won’t abide an unfaithful wife.”
A brow furrowing in confusion, Rodney finally gave his head a shake. “Ain’t never tupped her,” he claimed. “She’s a virgin.” This last was said in a hoarse whisper.
Mary considered what the matchmaker had said about her brother. He was in search of a wife who had long, dark hair and was willing. Perhaps Jane would be, but she had short curly hair. And she was blonde.
Giggling, Mary stood up on tip-toe and kissed Rodney on the cheek. “Then I promise I’ll only let you tup me,” she said.
Rodney lowered his face and kissed her on the forehead. “Then I’ll carry the coal buckets for you.”
Her eyes rounding in delight, Mary said, “I think I may be falling in love wif’—” Her words were cut off when Rodney’s lips lowered to hers and captured them in an awkward kiss.
They might have continued to discover how to correct their clumsy attempt at kissing, but footfalls on the stairs had them separating and hurrying off to their respective positions.
Chapter 41
At Last, an Understanding
Later that afternoon, outside of Stanton House
“Hello, Charity,” Marcus said, a grin lighting his face as he opened the door to the Wadsworth town coach. “Would you like to come in for tea?”
Charity regarded the viscount with a sigh. Despite how she had treated him only a few nights ago, he was still eager to please her. “I would,” she agreed.
He offered a hand, and she took it, stepping out of the coach into the bright sunlight.
“I suppose I have you to thank for the young man who called on Baker a few minutes ago?” he half-asked, offering her is arm.
“Only if they agree to marry one another,” she replied. She placed her hand on his arm.
“Having been in my study when Miss Baker met her would-be suitor in the salon, I have no doubt she will be amenable to a match,” he said as he led them across Park Lane.
“Oh?” Charity replied. “Whatever did she say?”
Marcus allowed a grin filled with mischief. “I didn’t hear a word per se, but rather a squeal.”
Dipping her head, Charity felt a moment of pride.
“He looked familiar,” Marcus hinted, knowing full well the identity of Mary Baker’s caller.
“Mr. Weatherby is Lord Wessex’s valet. And butler, I think,” Charity replied.
Rolling his eyes, Marcus allowed a chuckle. “Then this will be interesting,” he replied. “Wessex thinks his valet expects too much in a wife.”
Alarmed, Charity nearly paused mid-step. “In what way?” she asked.
Marcus inhaled as if he were about to respond and then seemed to think better of what he was about to say.
“Because he wants a willing wife?” Charity asked gently.
His eyes widening with her query, Marcus finally gave a nod. “Exactly.”
“Well, she is. They both want fidelity. So perhaps this will work.”
“She told you that? Miss Baker?”
Charity nodded. “She did. She knows what she wants, and she’s unwilling to accept anything less,” she explained.
They walked in companionable silence for a time before Charity realized they were in the park. Up ahead, she could make out Mr.Weatherby and a young woman strolling side-by-side, the valet’s slight limp not so noticeable from this distance.
“Much like you,” Marcus said after a time.
Furrowing a brow, Charity turned her head to regard him, his profile silhouetted against the bright blue sky. She thought of what it would be like to wake up to see that profile every morning, rather startled when a frisson passed through her lower body. “I won’t apologize for knowing what I want,” she said, not sure how he meant his comment to be construed.
“Neither will I,” he replied, pausing so he could turn to regard her.
Charity inhaled and then swallowed. “What is it you think I want?”
“A daughter. A legitimate daughter,” he clarified. “But you also want a husband who will love you. A faithful husband who will treat you well. Kiss you in the mornings before breakfast and at night when you come to bed. A lover, who will hold you close and pleasure you until you beg him to stop and then do it all over again until you’re pleasantly exhausted,” he murmured, thinking of the Stanton House footmen and feeling a bit of jealousy. “Did I miss anything?”
For a moment, Charity wished she was standing closer to the viscount, for
she felt a bit light-headed and may have listed a bit as she regarded him. “No,” she replied. “That is to say, I don’t think so.” She allowed a sigh. “So... what is it you want? That you’ll not apologize for?”
Marcus allowed a wan grin. “You.”
Charity gripped his arm a bit harder, as if she had to steady herself. “Me?” she repeated in a whisper.
“Will you marry me, Charity?” he asked. “Please say you will before you faint,” he added in a whisper, an arm going around her shoulders to pull her closer. He felt relief when she simply gave into his hold and ended up pressed against the front of his body.
“I will,” Charity finally replied. “But first...” She paused and glanced around the park, as if she worried that others might see them in the inappropriate embrace. “You have to get a child on me.”
Marcus blinked, and then his immediate frown was soon replaced with a mischievous grin. “I accept your challenge, my lady,” he said as he continued to hold onto her but turned around. He started to lead them back toward Stanton House.
“Where are we going?” she asked, struggling to keep up with his quick pace.
“Your future bedchamber,” he replied, thinking of the mistress suite that was accessible from his bedchamber by way of the dressing room. “I was thinking I might don a mask and black leather gloves and pay a call on you. Not to steal your jewels, of course, but instead to ravish you before I take my leave at dawn.”
What jewels? she almost challenged, but Charity blinked several times, realizing he had conjured this particular scenario sometime in the past. “Ravish me?” she repeated. “And just how do you intend to do that?”
A sly grin touched Marcus’s lips. “Why, I plan to worship your body with my lips and tongue. Use my leather-clad fingers to draw little circles all over your heated skin and incite a million darts of pleasure beneath the surface.”
Charity swallowed. “A million darts of pleasure?” she repeated, wondering what might have become of meek, mild Marcus Lancaster.
He took great delight in seeing excitement spark in her eyes. “And then I’m going to make love to you—”
“As if you haven’t already been doing—”
“Bring you pleasures you haven’t ever experienced before—”
“You do realize you’re setting rather high expectations?”
“Until you beg me to stop.”
A shiver shot down her spine as she stared at him. “You’re not teasing, are you?”
Marcus sobered and wrapped an arm around the back of her shoulders. “If I do that, will I be welcome to join you in your bedchamber again?”
Dipping her head in an attempt to hide the blush that colored her face, Charity said, “Possibly.”
“And again? It may take more than one try to get a child on you. Maybe a hundred tries.”
“Marcus!” she scolded. But she grinned and allowed him his fun, even when he kissed her in broad daylight.
He was going to give her what she wanted, it seemed. The least she could do was let him.
Chapter 42
A Change of Plans
The following day
Charity regarded the front of Stanton House a moment before finally stepping out of her town coach. The groom held the door for her and then offered to escort her.
Having just been here just yesterday—and having agreed to one day be this house’s mistress—Charity declined the offer. “I am not paying a call on Lord Lancaster,” she said with a shake of her head.
The memory of what he had done with her—to her—the afternoon prior had her entire body shivering in delight. Never would she have agreed to such an assignation except that at the moment he accepted her challenge, she found she wanted him to prove himself. Wanted him to have his way with her. Prove his ability between the sheets or fail in the attempt.
He certainly hadn’t failed.
Perhaps he might have decided she wasn’t what he truly wanted. If that had happened, they could have simply parted on good terms, and she would return to Suffolk.
She wouldn’t be returning to Suffolk.
Marcus was at that moment on his way to secure a license so they might wed in a week. She had been about to remind him of his promise to get a child on her first, but she remembered how after their third round of lovemaking—slow and quiet and ever so satisfying—he had placed a warm hand on her bare belly and held it there before leaning over to place a kiss in the same spot. He did it as if he were blessing her body for the child he was sure had been conceived moments earlier.
She placed a gloved hand there now, remembering how desire for him had bloomed. How her sense of him had changed. How she had come to realize he truly cared for her and would have been satisfied even if she hadn’t provided anything in return.
Well, his love for her wasn’t about to go unrequited. She would be a fool not to love him in return. A fool not to accept his generous soul without giving him hers.
There was a thought that this was moving entirely too fast—perhaps they should court for a time—but her gaze darted to the note she held in a gloved hand, and she knew that time would be better spent as his viscountess. As his wife. As his lover.
The missive, written in a neat script, had been delivered earlier that morning by a footman from Lord Wessex’s townhouse.
Dear Lady Wadsworth,
I am writing with the express purpose to thank you for your efforts on my behalf vis-a-vis a wife. I wish to share with you the happy news of my betrothal to a housemaid in Stanton House.
However, I will not be marrying Miss Baker.
The words had Charity’s good mood turning to sadness for Miss Baker. The young housemaid seemed eager to meet the valet, even though there was an undercurrent of caution in her manner. Almost as if she had resigned herself to having to marry and had decided to simply accept whoever was offered.
When Charity continued reading the missive, she was glad she was alone, for her mouth dropped open and she let out a sound of surprise not usually associated with a countess.
Miss Baker is, in fact, my sister. For reasons I will not expand upon in this letter, neither Miss Baker nor I use our true family name, Jones, so of course I do not blame you for attempting to make an unholy match.
Our meeting was a fortuitous one, though, for Miss Parker, a lady’s maid in Lord Lancaster’s employ, served tea. From the moment she stepped into the room, the young lady had my complete and undivided attention. After only a few minutes in her company, she had my respect and admiration. Another ten minutes, and she had my heart.
Never mind that her hair is not dark, but blonde. That she has it cut short to allow the natural curls to frame her beautiful face. That she is nothing as I described to you when you asked what I sought in a wife. I will be marrying a virtuous woman who is not the least bit bothered by my infirmity, and so I am blessed. As to that other trait I sought, I realize it falls onto me to ensure my wife is willing. A challenge I look forward to with utmost happiness.
In fact, yesterday would have been a perfect day except that I left my poor sister in a state of stunned disappointment. Perhaps you have another client to whom you can introduce her? One who can overlook her apparently fast reputation?
I thank you again for your assistance.
Yours in service,
Mr. Roger Weatherby
The door to Stanton House opened even before Charity could lift the brass knocker. Harrison appeared and stepped aside.
“I wondered if I might have a moment with Miss Baker?” she asked as she held out the calling card for ‘Finding Wives for the Wounded’. “I don’t wish to take her from her duties, though.”
Harrison angled his head and gave it a shake. “I am quite sure Mrs. Barstow will not mind,” he said, his normally staid expression suggesting a hint of amusement. He led her to the adjacent salon and said he would see to tea. Before she could put voice to a protest—she didn’t intend to stay more than a few minutes—the butler disappeared, leavi
ng her in the salon.
Allowing a sigh, she took a seat in one of the chairs, glanced around, and gave a start of surprise. Such a pleasant little parlor, populated with a few upholstered chairs in a floral pattern, a low tea table, a fireplace, and a half-round table beneath the room’s only window. And in the chair she’d had her back to when she entered the room was Marcus.
“Don’t blame Harrison,” he said with a grin. He moved to place a kiss on her cheek before taking the chair opposite. “I saw your coach pull up and asked him to bring you here.”
“It’s a beautiful salon,” she said, dimpling when she noticed how he gazed at her.
“Only because you’re in it,” he replied. “Have you come to... see me?” he asked, his uncertainty apparent.
Charity shook her head. “I thought you would be at the bishop’s seeing to a license.”
He pulled a paper from his topcoat pocket. “All done,” he said, referring to the marriage license he held. “We just have to... set a date. That is... if you still—?”
“How soon can we wed?”
Marcus blinked. He had half-expected she might claim to have changed her mind. “We have to wait a week,” he replied, just then regretting not having purchased a special license instead of the standard marriage license.
“A week, then,” she said on a sigh. “But I have a favor to ask—”
“Anything. It’s yours,” he replied.
Charity’s eyes darted to one side. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised he would pretend to be so accommodating. Why, she was sure he had assumed she had changed her mind and was there to beg off. “I would really hate to leave my position at the charity, especially since Lady Bostwick has had so many leave before me, all because they wed,” she explained.
“You wish to keep matchmaking?” The query came out sounding not the least bit judgmental. Nor did he sound surprised.
“I do. Although I’ve had a bit of a setback with one couple, I’ve had good success with others... and I’d like to continue.”
The Charity of a Viscount Page 24
