Thea's Marquis Read online

  "Yes, my love, but I cannot help wondering why he is taking such pains for strangers with no conceivable claim to his benevolence."

  "I heard Mr. DeVine mention ‘another quixotic start,'” said Thea hesitantly.

  "Oh, that is all right, then,” her mother said with relief. “If it is a habit with him to help lame dogs over stiles, he doubtless simply regards us as a cause for charitable concern."

  "I am not a lame dog!” said Meg, her face pink with indignation.

  Penny laughed. “Not now, but the epithet fitted both you and me when we arrived at the Haycock."

  "I suppose so. I wish Mr. DeVine had not seen me when I was so odiously ill and dressed in the dowdiest clothes.” Her attention was caught by something outside the window. “Penny, look. Two drays just pulled up in the street. I believe it is the painters and paper-hangers."

  With the competent assurance Thea admired, Penny took charge. At her bidding, workmen were soon busy throughout the house in an orderly chaos of buckets and paste pots, brushes and ladders.

  The ladies escaped for a few hours to attend fittings at the dressmaker's. When they returned, laden with packages, the house reeked of paint. Already tired, Penny found the smell unbearable, and she was further distressed to find Jason not yet come home.

  Begging Thea to go with her, she retired to the chaise longue in her dressing-room to rest before dinner.

  "I have scarcely set eyes on him since we arrived,” she said unhappily, having dismissed the new abigail the two of them shared. “He leaves before I am well enough to go down in the morning, and if he returns for dinner he goes out again afterwards. What do you think he is doing?"

  "It must be something important to keep him from you,” said Thea, seated on the stool at the dressing-table. “You must not trouble yourself about it."

  "But why does he not tell me?"

  "He has been used to his freedom these many years. I daresay it does not even dawn on him to account to anyone for his coming and going. You ought to ask him."

  "I could not bear him to think me a nagging wife, especially when I fear he already regrets having married me.” She clasped Thea's hand. “Will you ask him where he goes?"

  "If you wish,” she said, with deep misgivings.

  "I wish I had let Angus stop at the Haycock, as he intended!” Penny cried. “I'd be his wife now, and Henrietta would be Jason's. The life of a doctor's wife might be dull, but even if he, too, had regretted marrying me, it would be less painful because I did not love him."

  "What happened at Wansford?” Thea asked, long-suppressed curiosity getting the better of her.

  "That was the first time I made a deliberate effort to meet Jason again, before Angus and I were taken up in his coach. He and Henrietta were ahead of us. He had mentioned that they meant to take luncheon in Stamford, and I persuaded Angus to go on there instead of stopping at the Haycock. Then Henrietta insisted on letting her dratted kitten play in the meadow by the river at Wansford. When Angus and I reached the bridge, I saw them. I made Angus stop the carriage and went to help Jason rescue a mole from the kitten.” A reminiscent smile played on her lips, then faded. “I wish we had driven on!"

  "Well I do not, for I'd never have known you. How dreadful it would have been to have Henrietta for a sister-in-law.” All too clearly Thea recalled the spoiled girl's careless contempt.

  There was a tapping on the door and Meg put her head around it. “Penny, you are not sleeping? Now that I have seen the colour of the walls, I want to consult you about the hangings for my chamber.” She flitted in, her arms full of swatches of gauzy material. “It is going to look simply splendid."

  Distracted from her woes. Penny cheered up. Thea left them comparing shades of rose-pink, Meg's favourite colour, and went to her own chamber.

  Crossing the room to the window, she watched the lamplighter make his rounds of the square. She was troubled. Penny's megrims disturbed her, and she was vexed with Jason for the unexplained absences that only made matters worse. And now that she had leisure for reflection, she realized that her spirits were low on her own account.

  Lord Hazlewood's unexpected visit, his invitation to the market, had raised hopes that she had found a friend who accepted her despite her shyness and her proclivity for committing faux pas. She should have known better. After all, she had heard Will DeVine speak as if his cousin's acts of benevolence were frequent enough to be a joke. To the marquis she was no more than—in Mama's phrase—a lame dog. The words had annoyed Meg, yet Thea could not resent his generosity.

  Nor could she bring herself to reject the semblance of friendship. She believed him sincere when he told her she could say anything to him. When she was with him, she would dismiss the guard on her tongue.

  Instead, she must set a guard on her heart. The Marquis of Hazlewood was a man with whom she'd find it all too easy to fall in love, but she must never forget that to him she was merely an object of charity.

  She smiled ruefully at her reflection in the window. In King Arthur's day, knights in shining armour wed the damsels in distress they were called upon to rescue. In unromantic modern times, no wealthy, distinguished nobleman was likely to ask a penniless, maladroit spinster to be his bride.

  Thea was glad to have her gloomy musing interrupted by her sister's arrival. “Have you chosen a colour for your chamber?” she asked.

  "Yes, and it will look very well, but...” Meg's voice trailed to silence.

  "But?"

  "Did you hear what Mr. DeVine was saying just before we joined them in the morning-room?"

  Thea shook her head. “You did, I collect."

  "He only called because we will not have any other visitors and he felt it his duty to cheer us up. I wish Penny would sell this house and buy one in Mayfair."

  "Meg, you never said so to her!"

  "I thought I ought to ask you first."

  "Then you have guessed that it is out of the question. For a start, because of the insult to her father's situation. Then the ingratitude, when she has been so good to us, not only allowing but pressing Jason to bring us to Town and buy us new clothes. And to suggest such a thing when her health is so uncertain!"

  "I didn't suggest it, Thea, not to Penny. I can see that it's impossible. I will not mention it again, I promise.” Meg sighed. “Things never turn out as you expect, do they? I suppose I should be glad that Mr. DeVine has a strong sense of duty."

  "Cheer up, love. I don't believe for a moment that duty brought him to our unfashionable doorstep, and duty certainly will not take him to Kew Gardens. The lure is your pretty face."

  "Well, I do think he admires me a little, but I cannot rely upon him to offer for me. If I am to find a husband, I must meet other gentlemen. What a pity Lord Hazlewood is so old, and so large! He is quite nice and I should like to be a marchioness, but he makes me feel like a beetle talking to a bull."

  Thea laughed. “A butterfly, Meg. No one could ever mistake you for a beetle. Now go and put on your new wings. It is time to change for dinner."

  "With all the wet paint about, I'll not risk my new gown. I shall suffer through one more evening in that horrid old pink rag."

  As Meg pattered out, the new abigail came in. Thea found the gaunt, grey-haired woman somewhat intimidating, but she had excellent references and she reminded Penny of the dearly loved maid her uncle Vaughn had dismissed. Penny had never heard from Nancy, who had been her nurse. She still missed her and worried about her fate.

  "Her ladyship says she'll dine in her room, miss,” said Farden now, setting a ewer of hot water on the washstand. “You'll be wearing your new gown?"

  "No, the old one, because of the wet paint,” Thea said absently. “Farden, is Lady Kilmore feeling ill?"

  "Just dog-tired, miss."

  Worrying about Penny and Meg, Thea spoke scarcely a word while the woman helped her change and dressed her hair. She went down determined to tackle Jason on behalf of both, if he dined at home.

  Her brother had
sent a message to say he would be out until late.

  * * * *

  During the night, the fine weather broke. Thea woke to the sound of rain being dashed against her window by gusts of wind. In the square, sodden leaves lay in drifts and the few passers-by hugged their overcoats about them. Hoping that Jason would not leave the snug haven of the house, Thea went down to breakfast.

  He was there already, preoccupied with a sheet of paper on which he made occasional notes as he ate. Greeting her, his handsome face sombre, he said, “Mama is with Penny, as usual. It's a cursed nuisance, this morning sickness."

  "Yes, but she is better in the afternoons, as you would know if you were ever at home.” She was not quite bold enough to ask outright where he went and on what business. “Surely you will not go out today?"

  "I cannot let foul weather coop me up. Darlington is expecting me at noon, and I am engaged to meet a number of others at Brooks's later. Fortunately, I have a wide acquaintance among the ton."

  Fortunately! How was she to tell Penny that her husband spent his days amusing himself with his friends? She made no effort to keep a certain dryness from her tone as she enquired, “May we hope to receive invitations from some of your acquaintance? Meg is eager to enter the social whirl."

  "I have mentioned that you are all in Town, of course, but it's the ladies who issue invitations. Mama must take you to call on her acquaintances.” His mind elsewhere, he scribbled some figures on the paper near his plate.

  Thea tried in vain to picture her vague, retiring mama calling uninvited on Society hostesses, with three young ladies in tow. She was not at all sure the dowager even had any acquaintance in London. Since her marriage she had resided in Northumberland, never setting foot farther south than Kendal.

  Had they all escaped from their isolation for nothing? Meg must have the chance to make a respectable match. Mr. DeVine and Lord Hazlewood were their only hope.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "It's stopped raining, my lord, and it's a bit warmer, though it's still overcast."

  Rod blinked up at his valet's stolid, candlelit face. “What the...?"

  "Covent Garden, my lord,” said Pelham with deep disapproval. “You did ask me to wake you before dawn the first morning it didn't look like rain."

  "Oh yes, quite right.” He sat up, the draught from his movement making the candle flame flicker. “What time is it? Send Billy to Russell Square with the note I gave you the other day. Did you order the carriage?"

  Hurriedly dressing, he felt an unexpected tingle of anticipation, the excitement of a schoolboy rising early to raid an unsuspecting farmer's apple orchard. A mere association of ideas, no doubt—leaving his comfortable bed at daybreak to visit the fruit market. What the devil had possessed him to suggest anything so harebrained?

  The plain fact of the matter was that he had been unable to stand by without trying to extricate Thea from her painful embarrassment. He had said the first thing that came into his head and she, full of pluck, had accepted his invitation despite Will's remonstrances.

  Will was right, of course, that the market was no place for a lady. Gentlemen might stroll through on occasion after a long night on the Town, the sort he had not indulged in since he'd taken Sue under his protection. Though she was his mistress and the widow of an actor, in her way Sue was as conventional as his mother; she'd be shocked to hear of his latest freak.

  He wondered whether the reality of the market would shock Thea. Her sheltered upbringing could have given her no notion of the vulgarity of the city's common people. She might turn up her nose and demand to be taken home.

  Or she might have changed her mind already, he thought as the carriage drew up in Russell Square. He'd not blame her. Only a hint of grey in the eastern sky suggested that dawn was on its way.

  He stepped out and looked up at the façade. In one window a curtain was twitched aside momentarily, the fabric blue in a glow of lamplight.

  Billy appeared at his elbow. “I went to the kitching door, guv, and knocked up the scullery maid; and sent ‘er to wake miss's abigail wiv your letter. Will I ring the bell now?"

  "No, we'll wait."

  After a brief interval the fanlight above the front door brightened. The door opened and a figure in a shabby blue cloak slipped out. The door closed.

  For a disappointed moment. Rod thought Thea had sent her maid to say she would not go. Then he realized that the figure was Thea herself. He stepped forward.

  "Miss Kilmore, where is your abigail?"

  "She cannot come. At least, Penny has more need of her than I. It turns out she has a trick that eases the discomfort of ... of—"

  "Morning sickness? Did we not agree that you could speak freely to me?"

  "Yes, sir, so I will say that whatever you and Mama may think, I am past the age to need a chaperon. Pray do not tell me we cannot go."

  "Very well, I shall not.” Laughing, he handed her into the carriage. He seated himself opposite, knocked to direct the coachman to drive on, then said seriously, “All the same, you really must not go about in public without a female companion, or at least one of your brother's footmen."

  "By ‘in public’ you mean where I might be seen by the ton, do you not? I begin to think it unlikely that we shall ever enter polite circles."

  "Why is that?” he asked, dismayed.

  "Jason says that Mama must introduce us to Society's hostesses, but she is not acquainted with any. For myself, it does not matter, but my sister longs to make her come-out.” Thea took a deep breath, which Rod was coming to recognize as her way of steeling herself to accomplish some task she found alarming. “I don't suppose you know any lady who might be willing to take Meg under her wing?"

  "I will see what I can do,” he said, more curtly than he had intended. He was aware of a certain disillusionment. Like every other female. Miss Thea Kilmore was after what she could get from him, even if it was for her sister, not herself.

  His tone made her wince. She seemed on the point of saying something, then decided against it.

  The carriage rolled south. As the day advanced, the streets grew busier with coal carts, brewers’ drays, apprentices opening shop fronts, and maids chatting while they scrubbed doorsteps. In silence, Thea watched the activity through the carriage window, her sensitive mouth drooping.

  Rod could not bear her quiet despondency. “I am sorry for snapping at you,” he said. “It was unfair when I had just told you to speak your mind frankly."

  She turned to him eagerly. “Oh no, it was my fault for trespassing on your kindness. Indeed, I would have apologized and withdrawn my request, but for Meg's sake I was willing to brave your displeasure."

  "You are a devoted sister."

  "Until Jason brought Penny to Newkirk, Meg was my only friend,” she said simply. “I want to see her happily married, perhaps the more so because I shall not wed."

  "You are determined against marriage?"

  "I am trying to be realistic. At twenty-five, I must be considered on the shelf even were I not too tall and too stupidly timid to attract a husband. Megan is pretty and lively, and her youthful charm may be expected to offset her lack of fortune. I believe she can make a respectable match—with the proper introductions and fashionable clothes."

  "I daresay she will,” he conceded.

  He would have gone on to dispute her poor opinion of her own attractions, but she said anxiously, “Penny bought me a beautiful new pelisse, but I thought, considering where we are going, that I'd best wear my old cloak. I hope you are not offended that I did not dress in my best to go with you."

  Smiling, he shook his head. “My dear Miss Kilmore, I am not so easily offended. Your cloak is altogether suitable for the market. I wish I had had the same thought. I fear I shall stand out like a chaffinch among sparrows."

  "Not a chaffinch, a pheasant.” She clapped her hand to her mouth in dismay at where the licence granted her tongue had led her, but above her hand her eyes twinkled at him.

  He laugh
ed. “Come now, I am not so very much larger than my fellows, any more than you are. It is the constant contrast with your mother and sister that makes you over-conscious of your height."

  She gave him a look at once grateful and doubting. He had no time to reinforce his point, for the carriage came to a halt and Billy opened the door.

  The noise of the market struck their ears. Cries of “'Taties, fine ‘taties,” and “Buy my white cauliflower,” mingled with arguments over prices, a baby's wail, and a general rumble of business and gossip.

  Rod helped Thea down and settled her hand firmly on his arm. “Don't stray,” he commanded, and she nodded, overwhelmed by the bustling turmoil.

  The crowd parted instinctively before the tall aristocrat, and Thea and the marquis wandered between barrows, barrels, baskets, crates and cartloads of carrots and cabbages and celery. The pungency of homegrown leeks and onions mingled with the fragrance of oranges and lemons from Malta and Majorca. A display of broccoli took Thea's interest.

  "I wonder if that is the Roman or Neapolitan,” she whispered to Rod. “It does not look quite like either."

  "I haven't the least notion! You must ask the stall holder."

  "Oh no, I could not speak to her."

  "She does appear to be something of a shrew."

  The woman was roundly abusing a man who had complained that half her stock was wilted. However, she answered Rod's question civilly enough, with a positive flood of information about the cultivation of broccoli.

  Thanking her, he turned to Thea. “Most of that was beyond me. Was it of any use to you?"

  "Most helpful. At Newkirk I was never able to obtain the varieties I read about, but I shall try to find seed while I am here. You see, one can have a supply throughout the winter if one plants the right kinds at the right time."

  He listened to her earnest exposition, impressed with her knowledge and enthusiasm. Unladylike, perhaps, but of vastly more practical use than embroidery or playing upon the harp.

  "How came you to your interest?” he asked.

  She flushed. “I know it is not a suitable occupation for a lady. I started because our gardener died, and someone had to feed the family. At Newkirk we have only what we produce ourselves. I enjoyed growing things and wanted to learn more, so I ordered books on kitchen gardening from the lending library. The library at Carlisle is sadly limited and out of date, which is why I am still shockingly ignorant."