Mastering the Marquess (7 page)

Meredith heard Annabel's silvery laughter drift down the hallway a full minute before her sister entered the room. She marveled again at the girl's seemingly miraculous recovery since reaching London. Meredith couldn't begin to describe her own sense of relief, but she still puzzled over the extraordinary changes in her sister's behavior.

Why had Annabel been so ill at Swallow Hill? Their uncle had maintained that she would never regain her health at home, and Meredith grudgingly admitted he was right. But she also had no doubt that committing the girl to a private asylum would have killed Annabel. Clearly Dr. Leeds was sadly mistaken, and Meredith had no regrets she had fled with her sister to London.

Annabel skipped into the breakfast room, waving several brightly colored fabric swatches in her hand. “Meredith, Miss Noyes wants you to come to the drawing room and pick out the new draperies for that room and the dining room. She says so many choices are likely to give her a spasm if someone doesn't help her.” She laughed again.

Meredith's chest constricted with an almost painful love. The girl looked so delicate and beautiful in a dainty primrose morning gown, her fashionable new haircut swept back off her neck with matching ribbons. She, in contrast, was wearing her oldest gown and had pulled her hair back into a simple knot at the nape of her neck in order to keep her hair out of her face as she worked.

There were times when her sister's youth and beauty forcibly reminded Meredith of her own rapid advance into spinsterhood. Annabel meant the world to her, but never had she felt so keenly the differences between them.

She put down her basket of linens and forced herself to smile. “Yes, darling. Tell Miss Noyes I'll be with her in a few minutes. I just need to organize the mending and give Cook the shopping list for the next few days.”

“All right, Meredith, but please don't be long. You promised we could go for a walk in the park this afternoon. It's been ages since we've been able to go outside.”

Annabel whirled around and dashed out of the room, her eager steps fading down the hallway to the front of the house. Meredith shook her head at the girl's exuberant energy, contrasting it with her own sense of exhaustion after the tumultuous move to their new townhouse near Berkeley Square.

She hated to admit it, but Lord Silverton had found exactly what they required. Discreetly situated on a quiet street, removed from the noise and bustle of the city, the house afforded them the privacy and security they needed until Annabel was ready to make her debut.

Meredith turned a critical eye on the small, cheerful breakfast parlor situated at the back of the house. It was flooded with sunlight for a good part of the day and just far enough from the other main rooms to be private. She had decided to convert it into a studio where she could paint and Annabel could draw and read her novels without being disturbed by the rest of their small household.

She inspected the contents of the wooden chest beneath the south-facing window. Meredith grimaced at the meager collection of brushes and paints she had managed to acquire in the mad rush of the last few days. It had pained her greatly to leave her supplies and sketchbooks behind when they had fled their home. And she didn't even want to think about what her aunt and uncle might do to her work—the precious paintings that had given her so much comfort during the dreary years after her father's death.

In the depths of her soul, Meredith was an artist. She knew she had talent. As a child, her father and stepmother had always encouraged her, allowing her to spend hours on end in a tiny, makeshift studio next to the schoolroom. But although they had approved of her passion for her art, they had often deplored the subject matter.

Meredith sighed as she reflected on the fate of one of her favorite pictures. Just before her father's death, she had completed a large canvas that depicted the birth of Athena, springing full-blown from the head of Zeus. Miss Noyes had screamed when she saw it, and her father had claimed it gave him the headache. It had been banished to the attic, along with a number of other works that had suffered a similar fate.

Since they had come to London, Miss Noyes had gently suggested she turn her mind to more cheerful subjects, encouraging her to paint a portrait of Annabel. Perhaps she would. It would be lovely, she mused, to capture her sister in such happy spirits.

Meredith closed the chest of art supplies and shoved it back under the window. She picked up the overstuffed linen basket and lugged it down the cellar steps to the kitchen as she mulled over her instructions for the new cook. It was remarkable how quickly they had acquired their kitchen staff. Another testament, she supposed, to the efficiency of Lord Silverton's secretary.

As she thought of the marquess, a faint but disconcerting heat flushed her limbs. Lord Silverton had intruded much too frequently in her thoughts these last few days. Meredith had vowed repeatedly to squash what was rapidly becoming a ridiculous schoolgirl crush.

Her uncomfortably warm feelings for him had surprised her, since more often than not she had found him to be arrogant and condescending. Besides, she reminded herself, it was most unlikely that a man like him would feel any kind of attraction to an aging spinster like her. Meredith simply refused to be any more foolish about him than she already was.

A distant knock echoed down the hallway just as she pushed through the door into the kitchen. Puzzled, she set the basket down on a stool by the door and automatically smoothed her hair back from her face. Who would be calling so early in the day?

The new cook, Mrs. Biggs, up to her elbows in flour, kneaded pastry for the apple tart she was preparing.

“Well, it seems as if you've got your first visitors already,” she exclaimed as she wiped pastry crumbs from her beefy hands onto a towel. “Now, Miss Meredith, you just give that list to me and I'll take care of the shopping as soon as I finish my pies. You best get that apron off and give your hair a brush before you go see who's calling so early in the day.”

Meredith smiled at the woman's warm, homespun manner. Mrs. Biggs had come highly recommended, and, more importantly, Meredith had liked her immediately. She removed the list from the pocket in her gown and handed it to the cook.

“Very well, Mrs. Biggs. I will speak to you later this afternoon.”

She shook out her skirts before hurrying to the stairs, determined at least to brush her hair before joining her sister and Miss Noyes in the drawing room. Their former governess should be able to maintain a polite conversation for a few minutes, and it would do Annabel good to be forced to play hostess without Meredith constantly hovering in the background.

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she heard an angry masculine voice coming from the drawing room. Meredith froze, then turned around and rushed down the stairs. Agatha came running down the hallway, casting a frightened glance at Meredith before stumbling to a halt in front of her.

“Oh, miss!” she cried. “You must come right away. Some bad men forced their way into the house. One of them is yelling at Miss Annabel!”

Meredith's heart kicked into a gallop as she realized her uncle had found them. She grabbed the maid by the shoulders and shook her slightly to get her full attention.

“Agatha,” she rasped, hardly able to overcome the dryness in her mouth, “you must run immediately to Lady Stanton's house and tell her my uncle has come to take Annabel away. You must make sure she gets the message. Don't leave until you know someone will come to help us, understand?”

The girl nodded her head. Miss Noyes had obviously told her about their situation, and she needed no further instruction.

“Yes, miss, you can be sure I will bring help.”

Agatha's skirts flew as she raced for the front door. Meredith hurried to the drawing room, sick with fear. What a fool she had been to think they were safe from discovery in this quiet little house. But how had her uncle found them so quickly?

She could hear Isaac Burnley's guttural voice berating Annabel. Suddenly her fear evaporated, replaced by a rage that made her jaw lock and her stomach clench. She flung open the door and charged into the room.

The small group before her froze into a horrid tableau. Her uncle loomed over her sister and the governess, who were huddled against the fireplace screen at the end of the room. Annabel looked scared to death, but her posture was erect and Meredith was amazed to see her standing squarely in front of Miss Noyes, as if to protect her. The poor little woman trembled so badly the ribbons on her cap fluttered.

Jacob Burnley stood beside the door. Meredith's rattled mind registered that her cousin looked uncomfortable, his shoulders hunched up around his ears as if he were embarrassed. At the sound of the door opening behind him, Isaac wheeled around and stared at her, an expression of ferocious satisfaction on his face.

“Well, there you are, Niece. Run to ground at last,” he snarled. “You thought you could defy me and make fools of us all. We'll see how clever you are after you feel the back of my hand on your face.”

His nostrils flared as he took a slow step toward her, his large hand curling into a massive fist. Meredith gasped with horror as she realized he actually intended to strike her. Miss Noyes shrieked, and Annabel cried out as she tried to pull from her governess's arms to come to her sister's aid.

“No, Annabel!” Meredith commanded. “Stay where you are.”

She closed her eyes as she tried to prepare herself for the blow. If she could draw all his anger, then he might leave Annabel untouched. Meredith could bear the pain if it gave them more time before help arrived.

“Father, stop!”

Meredith's eyes flew open at the sound of Jacob's voice. He lunged in front her, shielding her behind his own body. Father and son glared at each other, Isaac red-faced with rage.

“Get out of my way, boy. She needs to be taught a lesson,” he growled.

“Not this way,” Jacob replied, shaking his head.

They were both large men, but Jacob was bigger and in superb condition. Meredith had no doubt he could stop his father from hurting her.

Isaac's huge fists opened and closed as he stared at his son. For a moment, Meredith thought he would try to force Jacob out of his way to reach her. Instead, he slid his furious gaze over her once more before sharply nodding his head and dropping his hands to his sides. He moved back toward the fireplace and Annabel.

Meredith slid by her cousin, taking a wide berth of her uncle as she crossed the room. She knew her only chance now was to delay Isaac—do anything to prevent him from taking Annabel before help could arrive. Meredith had to hope that Jacob's obvious discomfort with his father's behavior would give them the time they needed.

“How dare you come into our house and threaten us,” she challenged. “Your authority may extend to Annabel, but it does not extend to me. This is my house and you are not welcome here.”

Meredith felt her resolve ebb as her uncle's face again darkened with rage. But as Annabel's icy little hand slipped into hers, she realized how much she loathed being intimidated by Isaac. Meredith looked down her nose with as much contempt as she could muster, surprised to hear her voice cold and steady as she addressed him.

“I have no doubt General Stanton will take whatever action is required to protect his granddaughter from your cruelty. He is on his way here at this very moment to see Annabel and, if necessary, remove her to his own household.”

As soon as Meredith saw the vicious grin on her uncle's face, she knew she had overplayed her hand. His harsh laugh ground across her frayed nerves like glass shattering against pavement.

“If Annabel is under his protection, then why is she here with you instead of with him? No, girl, I've had enough of your nonsense. You and your sister will go pack your bags now, or I will drag you both out of this house so fast your heads will spin off your necks.”

Meredith felt Annabel jerk against her. As she looked at her uncle's sneering face, a cold rage swelled in her chest.

“What kind of man are you that you would threaten defenseless women?” she retorted. “You sicken me! Annabel and I will never go willingly with you. You will have to drag us out onto the street for all the world to see what kind of monster you truly are.”

“Meredith, don't be a fool,” Jacob blurted out, clearly exasperated by her defiance.

Isaac Burnley bared his teeth in a ghastly smile. “As you wish, Niece. I am only too happy to oblige.” He moved across the room, large hands outstretched to grab them.

As Meredith shrank back against Annabel, she heard a clattering from the hall. A flustered Agatha materialized in the doorway. Casting a frightened glance about the room, she bobbed an unsteady curtsy and announced in a breathless voice, “Lord Silverton is here, miss, and Mr. Robert Stanton, too!”

Meredith stared at Agatha, who stood panting in the doorway, her hair tumbling out of her now-askew cap. She heard a firm, masculine tread out in the hallway and almost collapsed with the sheer relief that help had arrived so quickly.

Silverton appeared in the passageway behind Agatha. He gently placed his hands on the maid's shoulders and moved her as he stepped into the room, followed closely by his cousin Robert.

“Thank you, Agatha,” he said, his eyes fixing on Meredith. “You may go now. Please shut the door behind you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Agatha bobbed again, backed out of the room, and shut the door quietly behind her.

Silverton stood silent and motionless, but his eyes moved from Meredith and came to rest on Isaac. His cobalt gaze turned wintry, and his patrician features grew haughty as he returned the older man's glare.

“Who the devil are you?” growled Isaac. He planted his big fists on his hips, his stance both aggressive and insolent as he confronted Silverton's obviously aristocratic presence.

The marquess leisurely reached for his quizzing glass, raising it to his eye and deliberately perusing Isaac from head to toe. The older man's face mottled a bloody red.

Silverton dropped his quizzing glass and looked at Meredith, a hint of a smile touching his hard mouth.

“Miss Burnley,” he said in a bored tone of voice, “please forgive me if we have interrupted a private family discussion. Perhaps you will be so good as to introduce us to your guests.”

She gaped at him in astonishment. One of his eyebrows quirked up, and the smile that played around his lips grew genuinely amused. That look finally galvanized her into action.

She walked swiftly across the room, her arm outstretched to return his greeting. Silverton took her hand in a strong clasp and squeezed it slightly before letting it go.

“Lord Silverton, I am most happy to see you.” She smiled tremulously at him and then glanced at Robert, who stared grimly at her uncle, a look of murderous intent on his normally boyish face.

“And you, too, Mr. Stanton. Indeed, your visit is most welcome.”

She turned to face her uncle, who had moved across the room to stand by his son.

“This is my uncle, Isaac Burnley,” she said, hardly able to contain her anger. “And this is my cousin, Jacob Burnley. Jacob, Uncle Isaac, these are Annabel's cousins, Lord Silverton and Mr. Robert Stanton. They have been most helpful in assisting General and Lady Stanton to place us in our present situation.”

She glared defiantly at her uncle, feeling infinitely more secure now that Silverton stood by her shoulder. Meredith didn't know why she felt that way, given the gravity of the situation, but she was absolutely sure the marquess would allow no harm to come to her or to Annabel.

Isaac ignored the introduction as he scowled at the unwelcome visitors. Jacob, however, threw a cautious glance at Meredith and sketched a small bow in Silverton and Robert's direction.

“My lord, Mr. Stanton,” he said. Silverton acknowledged the greeting with a remote nod of the head.

A quiet sob snapped Meredith's attention back to her sister and Miss Noyes. Annabel was still dreadfully pale, but she bravely stood her ground, her arms wrapped around the small governess, who wept into her handkerchief. Meredith crossed the room and led the two women over to the sofa, murmuring encouragement as she gently pressed them to sit.

She glanced at Silverton. His mouth thinned with displeasure as he observed the scene through narrowed eyes. Meredith took a deep breath.

“Lord Silverton, we are in need of your assistance once again. My uncle is insisting that Annabel and I leave this house immediately and move with him to Swallow Hill. I have tried to explain we are under the protection of General and Lady Stanton, but my uncle refuses to acknowledge that we are perfectly safe here and that he must abide by the wishes of Annabel's family.”

Isaac spun around surprisingly quickly for a man his size.

“Don't get impudent with me, girl. Annabel is under my command, and if I wish her to come with me, then come she will. I have the legal right of her and that is the end of it.”

He sneered and took a step forward, as if he meant to grab her sister and make good on his threat. Annabel shrank back against the sofa cushions and Miss Noyes wept harder than ever.

As Meredith braced herself in front of her sister, Silverton's voice whipped through the room like a lash, causing her uncle to halt in his tracks.

“I would advise you to stay where you are, Mr. Burnley, or you may well regret the outcome of your actions.”

The marquess walked slowly toward Isaac, but the way he held his body was anything but relaxed. Meredith became aware, not for the first time, of how very tall and muscular Silverton actually was. He also exuded a subtle but commanding force of presence that made the other men in the room look smaller than they were.

Isaac stared incredulously at Silverton. He laughed harshly at first, but his brow furrowed with anger when he perceived the look of cold disdain on the other man's face.

“I don't know who the hell you think you are to order me around,” her uncle growled, “but I can assure you, I have the legal right to take the girl with me now. She is under a doctor's care at home and will come with me immediately.”

Robert, quiet until now, uttered a smothered oath and stepped hastily forward, apparently ready to charge across the room and attack Isaac.

Silverton's hand shot out and grabbed the boy's wrist in a tight grasp, locking him by his side. Robert started to protest, but his voice died when he looked at his cousin's face. Silverton's gaze remained fixed on Isaac.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Burnley,” he replied, not sounding disappointed at all, “but neither Miss Annabel nor Miss Burnley will be leaving this house or London until they choose to do so. They are under my uncle's protection and, by extension, mine as well.”

He glanced over at Meredith and Annabel, and his eyes grew even colder.

“It is obvious that you have distressed the ladies enough for one day. I suggest that you and your son remove yourselves immediately. If you wish to talk about their situation in greater detail, you may accompany me to my house, where, perhaps, we can discuss this as civilized men.”

Isaac's beefy hands clenched into fists. Meredith closed her eyes, sick with fear that a terrible brawl would erupt right in the middle of her sitting room. At least, she thought desperately, that might give her the chance to get Annabel out of the room and out of the house.

Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her sister's arm, ready to drag her out to the hall as soon as the fighting began.

But the mayhem failed to materialize. Much to Meredith's surprise, Jacob suddenly gripped Isaac's arm.

“Father.” He uttered only the one word, but the warning was clear in his voice.

Isaac impatiently tried to shake the restraining hand from his arm. Jacob tightened his grasp and refused to let go, willing his father to meet his gaze. Isaac finally switched his attention from Silverton to his son. For a few moments they simply stared at one another as an unspoken communication passed between them.

Meredith darted a glance at Silverton, who stood calmly in the center of the room, continuing to hold Robert's wrist in a light clasp. In spite of herself, a hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up within her. Silverton was utterly serene in the face of her uncle's frightening behavior. In fact, she thought as she peered at him, he was beginning to get that increasingly familiar look of boredom on his face. She almost expected him to extract his snuffbox and inhale a pinch, simply for lack of anything better to do.

The tension in her body began to ebb.

Isaac finally shook his arm free of his son's hold. He glowered at Silverton but had obviously given up the idea of resorting to fisticuffs.

“You may be unaware, my lord,” her uncle spat the title out with contempt, “but I am Annabel's legal guardian and have full control over both her person and her assets. Do you care to dispute that in a court of law?”

Silverton dropped Robert's wrist, his eyes suddenly gleaming with amusement.

“By all means, Mr. Burnley,” he responded affably. “I know several magistrates at the Court of Chancery who will be happy to see us, if I make such a request. You will be relieved to hear that I have a personal acquaintance with many of them. I am sure I can arrange for the particulars of this situation to be heard without any further delay.”

He paused, and Meredith couldn't quite believe her eyes when he actually did extract a snuffbox from his coat pocket and flip it open, availing himself of a tiny pinch with an elegant flick of his wrist.

“Of course,” he mused thoughtfully, “I will feel it necessary to inform the magistrate—Sir Reginald Phillips comes to mind as one who might be available—that you intend to incarcerate your niece in a madhouse when she is quite obviously not a lunatic.”

Meredith glanced warily at her uncle, who looked as if he wanted to wrap his fleshy hands around the marquess's throat and throttle him.

Silverton returned his snuffbox to his pocket. “If you are ready, Mr. Burnley, perhaps we can adjourn to the Inns immediately. I fail to see the point in letting this unpleasant situation go unresolved any longer. If you care to follow me, then we can just step up the street and hail two hackneys.”

Silverton continued to stare impassively at Isaac, although a slight smile softened the edges of his mouth. “I will be sure to give the hackney driver exact directions so that you will not get lost driving through the city,” he finished helpfully.

Guttural noises emerged from Isaac's throat. He spun around and glared at Meredith and Annabel.

“This isn't over. You may think you have the high and mighty to protect you now, but the law is on my side. And you,” he said, sneering at Meredith, “you will find that you don't belong here. They will run you out, just like they did your father, and then who will you have to come to?”

Meredith could feel what little blood was left in her face drain away. “Not you, Uncle,” she managed to gasp out around the catch in her throat. “It will never be you!”

She turned from Isaac, her legs trembling as she finally gave in to the weakness she had kept at bay as long as Annabel was in danger.

“Mr. Burnley,” said Silverton, and the affable tone was now replaced by one that was glacial. “Either avail yourself of my invitation to see the magistrate or leave immediately. I will not repeat myself.”

A small frisson tingled up the back of Meredith's neck at his threat of implied violence. It occurred to her that the soft-spoken marquess would make a powerful enemy to anyone who dared to cross him.

Her uncle spun on his heel and strode out of the room, brushing by Silverton as he did so. The marquess simply shrugged his shoulders. He looked inquiringly at Jacob.

“Mr. Burnley, do you intend to join your father, or is there something you wish to add to this discussion? An apology for his behavior, perhaps?”

Jacob threw him an impatient glance. “In a moment.” Looking at Meredith, he seemed to hesitate before clearing his throat.

“Meredith, it wasn't my idea to come here like this today. You know I would never hurt you or Annabel.”

Silverton's eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth, but Meredith lifted a hand to stop him from responding. He clamped his lips shut, frowning his displeasure with her unspoken request.

“Jacob, I am grateful you prevented your father from hurting us,” Meredith said, “but why would you come with him and force your way into my house for the sole purpose of taking Annabel from me?” She stared at him reproachfully.

He took an eager step forward, his hand outstretched to take hers, but stopped when she shrank away from him.

“Cousin, you must not be afraid of me. I came to London to prevent my father from acting so rashly. You know what he is like. He would have come regardless, and I thought to prevent him from taking you once we got here. Merry”—he looked earnestly at her—“you know I'm your friend. You must believe I wouldn't let him hurt you.”

Meredith studied him, trying to read his mind in his countenance. These last few weeks had seen her world thrown into chaos, and she hardly knew whom to trust anymore. But she had known Jacob all her life. He had always been her companion and protector, rescuing her from any number of childhood mishaps.

As Jacob held her gaze, Meredith was forced to admit he had rescued her that last terrible night at Swallow Hill, as well. When Isaac had turned his wrath on her, Jacob had intervened, insisting that his father leave her alone. He and Meredith would, he had told his parents, discuss any pending nuptials in the morning, after she had rested.

That conversation, of course, had never taken place, since she and Annabel had fled their home that very night.

“Meredith, did you hear me?”

She started as Jacob's voice abruptly recalled her to the drawing room.

Silverton was still scowling at her cousin, his eyes glittering with an unspoken but obvious challenge. Jacob ignored him, looking impatiently at her as he waited for an answer to his question.

“I'm sorry, Jacob. What did you say?” Meredith tried to gather her scattered wits, suddenly aware that everyone else had fallen silent while they waited for her to reply—except, of course, for Miss Noyes, who continued to sob into her handkerchief.

“I said,” Jacob frowned at her, “that I'll be back in London on business in three weeks. It would please me greatly if you would allow me to visit you when I'm in town.” His expression softened. “I give you my word I will not allow Father to accompany me or bother either of you again.”