Loving the Marquess (Landing a Lord Book 1)
Page 4
“I have always been very curious about you, Miss Evans. I have a feeling you are hiding more beneath that innocent exterior than you would have others believe.”
She said nothing.
He took a step closer but she stood her ground. He would not see her cower.
“Surely we can find out,” he said.
“I think not.”
He stared at her intently for a moment before taking a step back.
“Of course not,” he said. “Well, perhaps your sister will be of a different mind. She is no longer a child, after all. And I am sure she would be very eager to help keep her family from being tossed out of their home without a shilling to their name.”
That will never happen, Louisa vowed silently. She would not allow him to approach Catherine with his lewd proposal.
She tried one last time to appeal to whatever scrap of decency he might possess, knowing all along it would be futile.
“Please,” she said, trying to mask her desperation. “Hasn’t your family taken enough from us? Can you not leave us in peace?”
His cool gaze flickered over her once more.
“I will be by on Friday. You will either have the rent then, or you will have to think of another way to pay me. Good day.”
He strode toward his coach without a backward glance.
Sickened, she hurried into the house and closed the door behind her. Leaning against it for support, she closed her eyes and swallowed deeply, trying, without success, to achieve a measure of calm. She would never be able to solve this new dilemma if she panicked.
It was Monday. She still had four days to find a solution. But try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way out of their predicament.
She needed to sit down. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself before moving into the sitting room. When she did, her gaze fell on the calling card lying on the side table.
Chapter Four
A flurry of activity broke out when Nicholas rode into the open courtyard of Overlea Manor. A groom rushed out to see to his horse, while the head gardener slipped away to let the staff know the marquess had returned. Within minutes every servant on the estate would know. He smiled wryly. His arrival had never commanded such attention before he’d inherited the title. When his father and brother were alive he’d been free to come and go as he pleased. He missed that freedom.
He dismounted and handed the reins to the groom, who bowed and led the animal away. He turned toward the manor house where the butler was waiting patiently by the open door.
Sommers bowed as Nicholas approached.
“Lady Overlea has been expecting you, my lord.”
Nicholas knew that meant his grandmother wanted to see him as soon as possible. He had given up trying to remember what had been in her letter. He could remember breaking the letter’s seal but had no memory of reading it. The letter could only have been a summons or news that she was ill. Nothing else would have caused him to ride home to Kent on horseback while in the grip of one of his cursed headaches.
“Grandmother is well?”
“Yes, my lord, as always.”
Of course. His grandmother had always been strong as an ox. She had outlived her husband, her two sons, and one of her grandsons. She would probably outlive him as well. That meant Grandmother had summoned him home, but why? She wouldn’t have called him there on estate business. She left that side of things to him and he had never neglected his duties. She was up to something. Something he hadn’t liked. He just wished he could remember what so he could meet her on even ground.
“Harrison arrived this morning,” the butler continued. “He was surprised to find you had not yet arrived.”
He grimaced inwardly. He couldn’t remember the details surrounding his departure from town, but it sounded as though his valet’s arrival had the entire household entertaining visions of yet another dead marquess. He only hoped they hadn’t said anything to his grandmother that would cause her to worry. He glanced down at his badly rumpled and dusty clothes. He should go up and change first before seeing her, but at that moment all he wanted was to get this meeting over with as soon as possible.
“I knew Grandmother wouldn’t be up when I arrived, so I decided to put up at an inn instead of coming here directly,” he said by way of excuse. It wasn’t a good one, but Sommers would never dare question him further. “I’ll see her now.”
“Very well, my lord,” Sommers said with a slight bow. “She is in her sitting room.”
Nicholas headed toward the staircase but stopped and turned back to the butler.
“One more thing, Sommers. Do you remember the Evans family? They had the estate bordering this one before my uncle acquired it.”
“Certainly, my lord,” Sommers said, hiding the disdain Nicholas knew he had for what his uncle had done. He’d learned most of the servants felt the same way after overhearing Sommers speaking of it once, years before, to the housekeeper.
“If a message should arrive from them, I would like to be notified immediately.”
“Would that be this afternoon, my lord?”
“No,” Nicholas said, frowning slightly. “I don’t know when it will come, or even if it ever will.”
“Yes, my lord.”
With that, Nicholas turned back to the stairs and took them two at a time to the second floor and proceeded to the east wing where his grandmother had her rooms. He stood outside the door for several moments, attempting one final time to recall what she had written in her letter. He could almost see the words on the page, but the harder he concentrated, the more elusive the memory became.
Shaking off his frustration, Nicholas rapped twice on his grandmother’s sitting room door. She answered immediately, bidding him to enter. He found her reclining on a chaise lounge, her eyes closed. Against the deep red of the chaise, her snowy white hair and pale complexion stood out in stark relief.
He could have kicked himself for not remembering his grandmother had taken to resting in the afternoon. He should have waited to see her. Though she would never admit it, his parents’ deaths, followed so closely by his brother’s, had taken their toll on her.
She looked so small and frail and Nicholas felt a sudden rush of love for her. Aside from his cousins, with whom he had never been close, she was his only surviving relative.
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“I see you received my letter,” she said, drawing herself into a sitting position. She waved off the arm he held out to assist her. “I thought that would get your attention.”
“Grandmother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek before taking a seat opposite her on a ridiculously ornate chair he wasn’t sure would hold his weight. “I hope I didn’t disturb your rest.”
She frowned at him. “You aren’t furious with me?” She peered at him closely. “What are you playing at?”
“Should I be angry with you?”
“Livid. Unless…” Her eyes lit up. “Unless you already have news for me?” She leaned forward and took hold of his hand. “Who is she?”
“Who is who?”
The dowager marchioness threw his hand back in exasperation.
“Don’t toy with me, Nicholas. Who are you marrying?”
Surprise couldn’t begin to describe his reaction to her question. He may have forgotten what she had written in her letter, but he wouldn’t have forgotten a betrothal. His lapses in memory weren’t that far along. Worried, he moved to sit next to her on the chaise. Grandmother was old, yes, but she’d never suffered from delusions before. He knew some were prone to them as they aged, but somehow he’d never thought his strong-willed, mentally acute grandmother would be one of them.
“What makes you think I am getting married?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She stiffened. “Don’t treat me like an old woman.”
He smiled at that and she swatted his arm.
“I forbid you to say it.” She frowned again. “Did you receive my letter?”
“Your letter?”
She sighed with resignation. “It must have missed you. But if you didn’t come because of my letter, why are you here?”
“Maybe I just wanted to spend some time with my favorite grandmother.”
“I am your only grandmother. And you are not going to want to have anything to do with me soon.”
This was what he’d been waiting for. He stood and faced her, bracing himself for the worst.
“What have you done, Grandmother?”
“I have arranged for an announcement to appear in the papers tomorrow morning about the ball I’ll be hosting here at the end of the month.”
His confusion deepened. “Most people send out invitations to announce a ball.”
She didn’t react to the sarcasm in his tone. “I have sent out invitations, but I wanted everyone to hear our happy news before then.”
Dread crept up his spine. “News?”
“Yes. News of your upcoming nuptials.”
“My what?”
She really had gone mad. It was bound to happen at her age, but that it should occur in so public a manner was beyond embarrassing.
“Please, Grandmother, say you didn’t.”
The dowager marchioness held firm. “I did.”
His mind began to race. He paced to the door, hands combing through his hair. He darted a glance at the clock on the mantel. It was almost one o’clock.
“If I leave now I might be able to reach London before they go to press.” Presuming, of course, he didn’t suffer a relapse. His headache was only marginally better, but he did feel steadier on his feet. He had no idea how a newspaper was run, but he had to try to stop that announcement from appearing.
“You’ll stay right here,” his grandmother said, her tone firm.
Nicholas spun to face her.
“I may be old, Nicholas, but I haven’t lost my senses. Tomorrow’s item is not precisely an announcement. I merely arranged to have it known that you plan to announce your betrothal at this ball. It will appear as a bit of gossip.”
That admission went a long way toward relieving some of his concern.
“Surely you don’t expect me to manufacture a bride-to-be before then,” he said, exasperated by her meddling. She’d been trying to get him to marry since his brother’s death, but this was going too far.
“I know the Earl of Raymond would consent to a match between you and his eldest daughter. And Lady Strathmore has been hinting broadly that her daughter would favor a match with you. My preference would be for you to wed your cousin Mary, as your brother had planned to do, to mend the rift between the two families. I cannot force you to do that, however.”
“How kind of you,” Nicholas said, unable to keep his annoyance from his voice.
His grandmother continued as though he hadn’t spoken.
“I am sure speculation will be rife. I suggest you finalize who your betrothed will be soon.”
Nicholas could only stare at her, incredulous. The memory of what had been in that damnable letter had come crashing back to him as she spoke. How could he have forgotten the announcement of an upcoming marriage? His marriage. Of course, Grandmother had led him to believe she would soon be making a formal announcement. She had also neglected to mention she’d already set her plan into motion.
“I will not be forced into marrying someone I cannot tolerate, and I most definitely will not be marrying my cousin. James was the martyr in this family, not I.”
He ignored the stab of guilt that went through him when he saw the sorrow that crossed her face at the mention of his older brother. It had only been a year since his death.
“I hate to mention this, but you must be aware that I have not led a monkish life and am not unused to having gossip connected to my name. Surely you know someone’s speculation that I intend to marry would hardly be enough to force my hand.”
His grandmother sighed deeply. “Nicholas,” she said, her tone now a placating one, “please understand. I have always wished for you to find someone special. Someone you could love as your grandfather and I loved each other and as your parents loved. I do not want to do this.”
“Then why do it?”
“You are twenty-eight years old. It is time for you to be settled and beget an heir.”
Twenty-eight was hardly an advanced age, but he knew his grandmother was thinking of his father and brother’s unexpected deaths.
“We already have an heir if something should happen to me.”
The dowager marchioness grimaced.
“Edward is my grandson and I love him, but your cousin would never be a good marquess.”
“We agree there, but I will not allow you to force me into this.” He turned and strode toward the door. “I will be returning to London tomorrow.”
He was about to leave when his grandmother’s words stopped him.
“I have told you my plans in advance this time, Nicholas. If you do not comply now, there will be no warning next time. The first you hear of it will be a formal announcement that will include the bride’s name.”
“I see,” he said stiffly, turning to face her. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve allowed me some choice in the matter.”
“Nicholas…”
He didn’t stay to hear more. He opened the door and walked out, closing it soundly behind him. A swift, burning anger had replaced the concern he’d felt for his grandmother upon entering her sitting room. He couldn’t believe she actually sought to blackmail him into marrying.
He wanted nothing more than to head for the stables and ride off some of his anger. He needed to clear his head and think of a way to dissuade his grandmother from her current course of action. Instead, he turned and headed for the library. It would serve no purpose to ignore the fact that his damned head still ached. He’d managed the ride home from the Evans cottage because he’d ridden with care, but he was in no frame of mind at the moment for such caution.
He collapsed into the armchair before the fireplace. It wasn’t yet cool enough to light a fire during the day, so he stared, instead, into the empty hearth. His lips twisted with wry amusement as he remarked how the lack of warmth from the fireplace seemed an apt metaphor for his own life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been genuinely alive. Oh, he’d made a fine show of it while in town, but his frivolity had only been on the surface. With all the death that had surrounded his family, his newfound, never-expected responsibilities, and now the threat of a similar death hanging over his own head, he was as cold and lifeless inside as the dark ashes in the hearth before him.
He’d recently decided he could never risk marrying. It was clear some illness was striking down the men in his family and he didn’t want to pass that illness down to his own children. He wondered if his grandmother suspected he had come to such a decision. He’d never discussed marriage with her before today, but she was astute enough to guess at his thoughts on the subject. He wondered if she would release him from her schemes to marry him off if he told her he was beginning to show signs of the same illness that had already killed his father and brother.
He couldn’t risk having children. There had been women, yes, but he’d always taken care so as not to sire any bastards. He was grateful now for that caution.
His grandmother was right about Edward, though. He couldn’t inherit. He was selfish and irresponsible, traits he had no doubt inherited from his father, but they had flourished under his aunt’s cosseting. And he had only grown worse with each passing year.
No, he had to take steps to keep his cousin from becoming the next Marquess of Overlea, and he had to act before his own illness left him incapacitated. His pride balked at what he knew had to be done, but he could no longer afford to put it off.
His thoug
hts turned to the beautiful Louisa Evans and the kiss they had shared that morning, and for one insane moment he wondered if he should consider proposing to her. But then he remembered how stiff she had become when she thought he was offering her charity. If she was determined to refuse any assistance or thanks from him for her care of him the night before, she would certainly never accept a proposal of marriage.
Besides, he knew he was being ridiculous. One shared kiss did not mean they were compatible. Granted, it had been a very nice kiss, full of passion and the promise of delights to come.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Given what he would need to do to procure an heir, it was probably better to marry someone to whom he was not quite so attracted. He wondered whether either of the ladies his grandmother had mentioned would agree to the kind of arrangement he had in mind.
* * * * *
Louisa had nowhere else to turn. She’d tried unsuccessfully to find more sewing to take in or to think of some other way to pay Edward Manning the rent he demanded. His suggested alternative was too repulsive to contemplate, let alone accept, and she wouldn’t allow him to approach Catherine with his vile proposition.
In a moment of frustration she’d almost told her brother about their landlord’s visit. The temptation to have someone with whom she could share this burden was great. She knew, though, that John wouldn’t have been able to help, and he was brash enough to do something foolish like challenge Edward to a duel for the proposition he’d made. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
She brought the horse she’d borrowed from a neighbor to a stop at the end of the drive and looked across the manicured gardens that spread out before Overlea Manor. Their former home, while respectable in size, was not nearly as grand as the house before her now—three stories in height, two wings sweeping out at the sides, and an impressive portico that rose up to the roofline, all in a rich honey-colored stone. She could only stare at it in wonder, the knowledge that she was completely out of her depth solidifying.
Asking for Overlea’s assistance had been the only path open to her. She’d managed to maintain her equanimity during the ride, but now that she was here, her heartbeat quickened. She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to quell her nerves before starting down the drive to the front of the house. When she dismounted, a groom was already headed toward her. She smiled as she handed him the reins.