Loving the Marquess (4 page)

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.