His hands were clenched into fists. “No, Louisa. My concern is for your reputation.”
Louisa returned to her chair, looking away so her brother wouldn’t see that his remark had struck home. He was right. Both Catherine’s reputation and her own were at risk, but what other choice did they have? She couldn’t send Overlea away, not until he was well enough to travel. After seeing him stumble, she didn’t think that would be today.
Sighing, she reached across the table, took hold of John’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “Your concerns are valid, I won’t deny it, but we can’t turn him out of the house when he is unwell. Surely you see that.”
John pulled his hand from hers. “I’m not completely heartless, but I don’t like having him here.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, shoulders slumped. “Papa would know what to do.”
“Papa would agree with me,” she said. She turned to include Catherine in their conversation. “I don’t want either of you to worry. My reputation will survive as long as both of you are here.”
She wouldn’t think about the kiss she and Overlea had shared upstairs. It had been a mistake and would never happen again.
“I still don’t like it,” John mumbled.
Louisa let the comment go. “You two have things to do.” She stood and began to clear the table. A quick glance at the clock told her it was already eight. “You’ll be late for your lessons, John.” They both knew how much Reverend Harnick disliked tardiness.
She watched as her brother finished the last of his eggs and, without another word, left. He was eighteen and should already have left for university. They couldn’t afford it, but Reverend Harnick assured them John would be able to attend on a scholarship. After their father’s death, however, John had been reluctant to leave Louisa and Catherine alone, and so, for now, he continued his studies under the reverend’s tutelage.
“And you,” she said, turning to Catherine, “there’s mending to be done.”
Catherine wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Someone will miss the marquess while he is here.”
She’d been so off-center since his arrival that it hadn’t occurred to Louisa that Overlea’s grandmother might be expecting him. Everyone in the area knew he’d been in London for the past few months. The fact he was here now could only mean he’d been on his way to his country seat, not far from their cottage. And even if his grandmother hadn’t been expecting him, someone else would know about his movements and wonder where he was.
“Maybe we should send a note,” Catherine continued.
“Yes, of course,” Louisa said. “I’ll speak to Lord Overlea about that. But for now, off with you.”
Louisa sat heavily after her sister left the dining room. Why had she not thought about Overlea’s grandmother? She would need to be told where he was. What was wrong with her?
But she knew exactly what was wrong with her. He was. Nicholas Manning, the new Marquess of Overlea, muddled her thinking. Confused her. That kiss upstairs was clear proof of that. She never should have allowed it, let alone permitted it to go as far as it had. She would have immediately put a stop to his liberties if it had been anyone else, but Overlea had a strange effect on her. One she did not like.
* * * * *
The soft chiming of the sitting room clock interrupted Louisa’s concentration. She looked up from the sewing in her lap to see that it was already noon. Catherine had long since abandoned the mending to go work in the garden. It was her favorite place to be, and now that autumn was upon them and the gardening season was coming to an end, she spent most of her free time outside.
Louisa looked down at the morning dress she was working on, admiring the pale green muslin. Since her father’s illness, she’d supported her family by taking in sewing. She didn’t earn enough for extras, but at least the necessities were covered. She hadn’t mentioned it to either of her siblings, but most of the sewing she took in was for the family who was responsible for their diminished situation. The dress to which she was currently adding the finishing trim was for Overlea’s cousin, Mary Manning.
She couldn’t be sure why the family allowed Louisa to make some of her dresses. They certainly had enough money to use only the finest modistes in London. While they did just that for the majority of Mary Manning’s clothing, Overlea’s aunt liked having Louisa make some of her daughter’s day dresses. Louisa tried to convince herself that Elizabeth Manning did so to make amends in some small way for how her husband had ruined the Evans family and did her best to ignore the small voice that whispered the older woman had no such motives. That, instead, she enjoyed flaunting their position of superiority over Louisa’s family. In the end, Elizabeth Manning’s motivation didn’t matter since Louisa relied heavily on the income her sewing brought in.
Unable to resist, she stood and held the dress against her. Closing her eyes, she twirled once, imagining what it would be like to own such a dress again instead of the dull, serviceable gowns she normally wore.
She opened her eyes and sighed deeply. She was being frivolous, hoping for things that could never be.
“That color suits you, Miss Evans.”
Louisa spun around to find Overlea standing in the sitting room doorway, one shoulder propped casually against the door frame. His glance swept over her and heat rose to her cheeks. She started to raise a hand to her hair, conscious of the tendrils that had escaped their pins, but stopped short.
“Thank you,” she said.
To give herself time to regain her composure, she folded the dress with care and placed it on the settee next to the sewing basket before facing Overlea again.
He seemed to be studying her. “Is something the matter?” he asked when he finally spoke.
Other than the fact she had been caught preening like a silly school girl, Louisa thought, with a dress that was not and could never be hers, what could possibly be the matter?
“No, nothing, my lord. You need not concern yourself with me. But what about you? How are you feeling?”
At her words, his jaw tightened and a mask came down over his features. The warmth and concern she’d seen in his eyes only moments before was gone.
“I’m fine.”
He entered the room and crossed to the window, his back to her.
She was not convinced he was telling her the truth. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Thank you, but no.” He turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back. “I have decided to return home. There are matters there that require my attention.”
“When?”
“Now. After I take my leave of you.”
She could only stare at him for several moments. The marquess had stumbled after breakfast, proving to everyone he was not completely recovered, and now he intended to ride home? Surely even he could see such an action would be foolhardy.
“Are you certain you are feeling up to it? Only this morning—”
“Yes,” he said, an edge of impatience in his tone. “I am aware of what happened this morning. It was nothing.”
“But—”
“Surely I do not have to explain myself to you?”
His words hit her like a slap, stopping her cold. The man who stood before her now was not the same person with whom she had shared breakfast that morning. He certainly wasn’t the person who had understood the pain of having lost a father. The man she had found herself beginning to like. No, this man was a stranger.
She felt the loss of that man more deeply than she cared to admit. It was clear she’d been acting foolishly. He was, after all, a Manning. But despite his cool demeanor, she couldn’t allow him to leave.
“No, of course not, my lord. You owe me no explanations. But perhaps you could wait until John returns. I expect him midafternoon. He can ride with you.”
She didn’t think it possible, but he seemed to stiffen even more.
“That will not be necessary,” he said, his words clipped.
Louisa couldn’t understand his anger, nor could she understand
the cursed male pride that balked at showing any sign of weakness. Surely he realized she was just concerned for his safety. But if Overlea insisted he was well, she wouldn’t be able to prevent him from leaving. Overlea Manor wasn’t far by horseback and she could only hope his strength would hold until he reached it.
“I am in your debt, Miss Evans.” He paused briefly. When he continued, his voice had lost its curt edge. “If there is ever anything I can do for you or your family, you need only ask.”
Now it was her turn to stiffen. Distasteful as the thought was, they might one day have to rely on the charity of strangers. But she, too, had her pride, and she doubted they would ever be so desperate as to accept charity from the Mannings.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked at her for several seconds. His dark eyes seemed to see straight through her and she couldn’t help but think that he knew what she was thinking. Finally, he looked away and reached into his coat pocket to produce a small gilt case from which he removed a calling card.
“Please accept this,” he said, handing her the card. “I’ve written my direction in town on the back. I’m not sure how long I will remain in the country. If you change your mind—” She started to protest, but he spoke over her objection. “If you change your mind, please feel free to contact me.”
She stared down at the card, a suspicion forming. “I will not accept payment for last night.”
“No, of course not.” He rushed to reassure her. “But you may very well have saved my life.” His lips twisted slightly at that. “At the very least, your hospitality saved me from a cold, uncomfortable night on the side of the road. Hopefully you will never have need of my assistance, but I want you to know the offer stands.”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she said, taking the card and placing it on a side table.
There was a brief, awkward silence during which she couldn’t think of anything more to say. She had already expressed her concern for his safety and he had brushed it off. A strange expression crossed his face and for a moment she thought he was about to say something more.
He lightly took hold of her hand and bowed over it. The shock of his bare hand on hers sent a shiver of alarm down her spine. He looked deeply into her eyes and a fluttering sensation began in the pit of her stomach. Her breath caught and her thoughts went back to the kiss she’d been trying so hard to forget. When he released her hand, she let it fall to her side, ignoring the temptation to check if his touch had seared her skin.
“Good day, Miss Evans,” he said softly.
Then he strode to the front door, opened it, and was gone. Louisa stared at the space where he’d been, trying to dispel the sense of loss that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew she was being silly. He hadn’t even been here a full day. How could the house seem so empty now that he had gone?
She returned to the sitting room window and watched as he crossed the yard and strode, his back straight and his step unfaltering, to where he’d tethered his horse by a tree. She told herself she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t stumble again, but she knew she was lying. It was probably for the best that Overlea was leaving. The marquess held an undeniable allure, a quality that no doubt drew many women to him. One to which it was clear she was not immune.
She watched him place a foot in the stirrup and swing onto the horse’s back. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she released it when he did not immediately fall off. Her gaze followed him until he was no longer in sight.
She shook her head then to clear her thoughts. She didn’t have time for this. She had to finish Mary Manning’s dress. She let the curtain fall back into place and was about to turn from the window when movement on the road caught her attention. Holding her breath, she waited, wondering if Overlea had realized he was not up to making this last leg of his journey alone and was returning.
She let out a long sigh, however, when she realized it was not the marquess returning, but his cousin, Edward Manning’s, coach. Their landlord.
It was going to be a day for Mannings.
She went outside, preferring to meet him there. Unlike his cousin, Edward Manning was not ill and she had no intention of allowing him into her home. The coach came to a halt at the end of the lane, and she watched as the coachman descended and hurried to open the door. Edward Manning stepped down gingerly.
Having so recently been in Overlea’s company, Louisa could not help but note the differences between the two men. From what she remembered, they were both of an age, but could not have been any more dissimilar than if there were no blood ties at all between them.
Overlea stood at least six feet tall with dark hair and eyes that were almost black. He was lean, yet surprisingly muscular, as she couldn’t help but notice when she’d pressed herself against him that morning.
Edward Manning had a similar build to his cousin, but he was shorter and seemed softer. She knew Overlea’s breadth of shoulders was natural, but suspected Edward Manning’s was due to padding. His hair was a sandy brown and his eyes an icy blue that could cut right through a person. Unease settled in the pit of her stomach as those eyes now focused on her.
He came up the walkway, took hold of her hand, and bowed over it. “I trust you are well, Miss Evans,” he said, squeezing her hand before releasing it. A shudder of distaste went through her. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you, but business kept me in London.”
She could well imagine what that business was. No doubt he had been in town, throwing away the money he wrung from his tenants on any number of assorted vices.
“Thank you, I am well,” she said, trying for that tone of civility she’d found increasingly difficult to maintain after her father had fallen ill and she’d taken over all dealings with Edward Manning. His interest in her had been evident from the start, and the last few months without his visits had been a relief. She couldn’t imagine why he needed to speak to her now and hoped his visit wouldn’t last long.
He licked his lips and glanced over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. “Your brother, is he at home?”
She couldn’t fathom why he would ask. He’d never dealt with John before now. “No, he is at his studies with Reverend Harnick.”
“Good, good,” he said. He cleared his throat before continuing and a slight smile played on his lips. “Your father has been gone for half a year, has he not? I imagine that means you are now out of deep mourning.” He took a step closer to her. “I am sure you will appreciate that we have important matters to discuss. Perhaps we could step inside?”
His request was unexpected. Manning knew how things stood between their two families. He knew he wasn’t welcome in their home and never would have suggested such a thing when her father was still alive.
“I am sure we don’t have anything to discuss that would take that long,” she said.
“Ah, but you are wrong about that, my dear. I am here to discuss your rent.”
A chill swept through her. “Rent?” she repeated, hoping he was jesting. The look on his face said otherwise.
“Why yes. Surely you understand that I cannot allow you and your family to continue living here without paying rent?”
“But my father had an agreement with yours.”
“Yes, but that agreement was between the two of them. Neither one is with us today. I have already been more than generous waiting this long before approaching you. Besides,” he continued, his voice smooth but his eyes still cold, “I am sure your pride balks at the notion of such charity. This is the largest cottage on the estate and there are others who have shown interest in it. Surely you understand my position.”
Though he tried to infuse his words with regret, Louisa could tell he felt none.
“How much?” she asked, forcing the words past the lump lodged in her throat.
He named a figure that had the lump moving down to settle firmly in her stomach. They would never be able to manage the added expense. As it was, she barely took in enough money from
her sewing to feed them, which he no doubt knew.
“Mr. Manning,” she began, trying to keep from revealing her rising sense of panic, “I am afraid that amount is beyond us at the moment.”
He clucked his tongue at that.
“Such a pity,” he said, shaking his head. “I have enjoyed having you and your family as neighbors.”
He turned to leave.
Louisa blanched. Surely he didn’t intend to cast them out?
“Wait,” she said, her mind racing for a solution. He pivoted slowly, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes?”
“Perhaps we can come to another arrangement,” she said, praying he would be reasonable. “One that would be mutually agreeable to both of us.”
“Go on,” he said, a smile beginning to form.
“I have some skill as a seamstress. Perhaps I could offer my services to your sister in lieu of any rent. She is paying me now, but she would no longer have to. And I would be happy to take on even more work.”
Annoyance flickered across his face.
“Mary has more than enough dresses already,” he said sharply. He seemed to catch himself then, for when he continued his voice had softened again. “No, I am afraid I can think of no solution.” He looked pensive for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Unless…”
“What is it?” she asked, eager to grasp at any way out of this situation.
A look of exaggerated concern crossed his face.
“It would be a shame for you to leave. I know you do not have other family to see you through this difficult time.” The concern left his face to be replaced by a triumphant smile. “Where would you go?”
The beginnings of anger began to stir within her. The lying, deceitful wretch. He was enjoying her misery. He obviously had something in mind so she remained silent, knowing it would be unwise to anger him. She only hoped he would tire of his game soon and reveal his intentions.
She didn’t have to wait long.
“Maybe there is something you can do for me.” His gaze moved over her, lingering on her breasts. When he raised his eyes to hers again their piercing intensity caused her blood to freeze.
Loving the Marquess (Landing a Lord Book 1) Page 3
