The Training of a Marquess
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Training
of a
Marquess
by
Sandra Owens
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Training of a Marquess
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Sandra Owens
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
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Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-931-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-932-2
Published in the United States of America
Also by Sandra Owens
THE LETTER
(available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.)
~Winner of the 2012 Golden Claddagh~
Dedication
In my book,
The Letter
, I thanked my family, and I still do—for their love, their patience, my husband's tolerance for burnt dinners.
Now, I want to send very special thanks to all those who helped me make it this far. My critique partners—Jenny Hall, Gina Miel Heron, Sandy James and Erika Olbricht (no, you didn't critique this particular book, but I'm thanking you anyway).
To the many authors who answered my endless questions or cheered me on, I wish I could name you all. The support and encouragement I've received from the writing community is amazing, and I am humbled by it.
Then there's my editor, Cindy Davis—she of the evil grins. Thank you, Cindy, for helping to make this process as painless as possible.
Chapter One
London, 1809
Chastain Warren, the Earl of Kensington, sat by his dying wife’s bedside and wondered if it was possible to hear the sound of his heart breaking into pieces. He had promised to love, cherish and protect her for the remainder of their days. Except her time was at an end and he couldn’t save her.
Teresa looked at him through fog-filled eyes. “Harry?”
No, dammit, he wasn’t Harry. The pain was as sharp as a knife blade that he’d never held his beautiful wife’s heart. This woman he would die for had never been able to let go of Harry’s memory. Chase held her hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her palm. “Yes, love, Harry is here,” he said, giving her the only gift he could.
“Harry?” Her gaze swept past him. Such joy lit her eyes that he turned, half expecting to see Lord Hollingsworth. The life faded from her eyes. He had lost her to Harry forever. Chase bowed his head, closing his eyes against the burning tears falling down his unshaven cheeks. Placing his hand over her stomach, he said farewell to his unborn child. After kissing Teresa’s still-warm lips, he walked to the door and opened it.
Teresa’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Aubrey, sat in a chair in the hall. Teresa’s doctor knelt in front of her, quietly talking. There was such pain in Her Grace’s eyes that Chase couldn’t bear it.
“She is at peace now.” He walked past her, down the stairs, out the front door and disappeared into the night.
****
Chase woke sprawled on a bench in the middle of Hyde Park. He had a vague recollection of being in a tavern. From the queasy rolling in his belly, it appeared he had consumed copious amounts of liquor. Leaning his head against the bench, he closed his eyes and attempted to get his spirit-soused brain up and working. It proved impossible. He was drifting back to oblivion when he felt a slight tug on his coat. In a reflexive speed he didn’t know he possessed at the moment, his hand wrapped around a small, boney wrist. He slid one eye open and looked into the dirty face of a street urchin.
The boy tried to pull his hand away, but Chase held tight. “What are you about? Think to steal my watch, do you?”
“Wot?” the boy said with the innocence of angels on his grubby face.
“What’s your name, boy?”
The lad clamped his mouth shut and glared at Chase.
“Come now, this isn’t a good day to try my patience.” The child was bone thin and dressed in rags. Chase would learn his name, give him a coin and send him on his way.
“Wot ye care, guv?”
It was a good question. “This is your last chance before I call the Watch. Your name, please.”
His voice sullen, the boy said, “Harry.”
Chase stilled.
Harry.
His heart pounded as his hand tightened on the boy’s wrist.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.” Chase loosened his hold. “Where are your parents?”
“Don’t got none. I told ye my name, guv. Ye gonna let me go now?”
Of course he was.
“Guv?”
Christ, what was happening to him? His hand refused to let go of the boy. He didn’t register the presence of another until Christian Fallon, the Duke of Aubrey, spoke. “What have we here?”
Chase turned to his closest friend and brother-by-marriage. “Not sure, says his name is Harry.”
Pain flashed in Aubrey’s eyes. “Harry, you say? Why are you holding onto him?”
Why, indeed? Clearly, he wasn’t thinking…well, clearly. Aubrey had lost his sister, but God help him, Chase couldn’t bear his own grief, much less that of another.
“Don’t really know. Scrawny little thing, isn’t he?” Go away, he silently begged his friend.
“Indeed, he is. What do you plan to do with him?”
“I think he needs a bath and some food in his belly.”
“Who’s that?” the boy asked.
“That is the Duke of Aubrey,” Chase said, happy to delay talk of Teresa.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Ain’t never saw a dook afore.”
Chase’s battered heart peeked out from its hiding place and, in that moment, claimed the boy as his. What the bloody hell was happening to him? Not letting go of the lad’s wrist, he stood. “Come along. You desperately need a bath.”
The child pulled in the opposite direction. “Ain’t never had me a bath, guv. Don’t think I wants one.”
Chase caught the pitying look from Aubrey and shrugged. “He’s filthy and he stinks.”
Aubrey, friend that he was, nodded as if that made sense in a world gone awry.
“When did you arrive?” Chase asked, towing the reluctant boy along.
“A few hours ago. Mother said you left the house last night and didn’t return, so I have been out searching for you. Chase—”
The familiar use of his nickname carried too much sympathy. “Don’t. Just don’t.” His wife’s brother laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and they returned to Kensington House in silence.
“Cor,” the boy breathed.
He glanced at the dirty urchin to see him staring—mouth agape—at Angel House. Chase tried to see his home through the lad’s eyes. Rising five stories high, the gray stone structure sat on almost a half city block. Under the flat roof featuring a cupola, an angel, wings spread wide, graced every third dormer window of the fifth story’s attic. The house would be impressive to a child who lived on the streets. Hell, Chase was impressed.
He started up the steps still dragging Harry. “Did Her Grace and the children come with you?” he asked Aubrey.
“Megan and the twins are at Rosemont with their nurse. When I left, Mother and Katie were hugging and crying. I couldn’t bear to stay and used the excuse to go find you.”
Aubrey’s voice wavered and Chase understood. Pain lent a trembling effect to one’s words. God, he didn’t want to walk through the door. His efficient staff had covered the knocker in black and he pretended not to notice, turning his attention to Harry. If he concentrated on the boy, he just might be able to enter his house and go through the motions everyone expected of him. His butler opened the door.
“Tell Mrs. Jenner to ready a bath in the kitchen, Stillwell.”
The butler glanced at the boy. “Certainly, my lord.”
Harry tried to pull his hand away. “I don’t wants a bath, guv.”
Before Chase could respond, Aubrey knelt. “Would you be willing to make a trade? You agree to a bath in return for a meal?”
“Is there cakes, dook? I never had a cake, but Bensey says cakes is the best ever.”
“Who’s Bensey?” Chase asked.
The boy clamped his lips together and refused to answer.
“Yes, there is cake,” Aubrey assured him. “So, do we have an agreement?”
“Does I have to have the bath to have the cake?”
Aubrey nodded. “I’m afraid so. No bath, no cake. And Bensey’s right, cakes are the best ever.”
The boy heaved a great sigh. “Aye, I wants the cake.”
They led the child to the kitchen where Mrs. Jenner was heating water for a bath. Chase pushed the lad in front of him. “This is Harry, Mrs. Jenner. Do you suppose you might find something for him to wear after he is clean? These rags he has on need to be burned.”
“I’m sure I can come up with something, my lord.”
“Take your clothes off, Harry, and let’s get you clean.”
The boy looked around the kitchen, his gaze taking in Mrs. Jenner, the cook and scullery maid. “I ain’t taking my clothes off with them ladies looking ats me.”
After the tub was filled, Chase cleared the room of all the women. “Into the bath with you.”
Harry eyed the hipbath as if it was a living thing that would devour him. Chase almost smiled. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, angry that he would allow a dirty boy to take his mind off his wife. The walls closed in on him, and he had to get out of the house. Not caring where he went, he ended up in the stables. Mischief poked his head out of his stall and nickered.
“We lost her,” he told Mischief. Tears welled and he rested his head on the horse’s sleek neck.
Where did he go from here? From the moment he had seen Teresa he’d wanted her. When she fell in love with Lord Hollingsworth, Chase buried his love for her deep inside.
When Lord Hollingsworth was killed, Chase had been given a second chance to win her. Though she cared for him, she had never fallen in love with him. He had decided he could live with that. He would love enough for both of them. And if he were very lucky, perhaps the day would come when she would say the three words he longed to hear. Her death had cheated him of that possibility.
Chase had been elated when he learned she was carrying his babe, praying that a child would help her forget the past. Instead, she turned melancholy and fearful, having tormenting dreams of the day Harry was killed and the baby she had lost that day. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as her health declined.
Now, any hope he might have had at seeing love in her eyes had died with her. And the worst thing of all—the very worst thing—she had taken his child with her. He could almost hate her for that. And with the near hate, came guilt for even thinking such black thoughts.
Mischief nuzzled his neck. “How are we supposed to go on without her, Mischief?”
“One day at a time.”
Chase turned. He hadn’t heard Aubrey come in. “She never loved me, you know.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for it.”
Chase bristled. “You are sorry? Is that supposed to help? How would you feel if you knew your Katie didn’t love you, while you only took your breath because she lived? Tell me, Your Grace, how would you feel?” A part of him understood he wasn’t being fair, but Chase couldn’t stop the anger.
Aubrey lifted a hand and scratched Mischief’s muzzle. “I would feel just as you do. The thought of being where you are now, knowing Katie was lost to me forever, I think I would tear England apart with my bare hands.”
“Then you do understand.” Chase walked out of the stables. The sound of Aubrey’s footsteps following came to him, but he didn’t slow. Coming to a crossroad, he didn’t know which way to go. Should he go left, or maybe right? God help him, he didn’t know.
“The boy was having meat pies and cake when I left. What do you plan to do with him?”
What did he care about a dirty boy?
Keep them
, Teresa’s voice said in his head. So now she wanted to talk to him. How was he supposed to feel about that? And what did she mean by them? Chase turned and retraced his steps to his home.
