The Training of a Marquess (3 page)

“If you wish. We shall take a rest here and wait for the carriage so we can all arrive together.”

They dismounted and walked to the grass, allowing Mischief and Victory to graze. He had let three months pass since inheriting the title, not wanting to intrude on Lady Derebourne’s time of mourning.

He had, however, sent his steward. The man reported that the ledgers were in good order, the current steward competent, and lastly, that he hadn’t set eyes on Lady Derebourne. Nor had his solicitor been able to learn much of the widow. It seemed she led a quiet, private life, never leaving Hillcrest. Chase had an image of a mousy, fragile, and possibly ailing widow.

After much consideration, he had decided on what he considered a brilliant plan. He would take her to London so she could find a husband. Having lost her husband, child and soon her home, he had great sympathy for her and would happily offer whatever necessary to see her settled with a decent man. He would treat her gently and with compassion.

The carriage arrived and he and Harry mounted their horses, leading the way up the hill. Liveried footman in forest green and gold, and servants in starched black and white lined the steps. Grooms waited to take the horses. It occurred to Chase that the place must be awfully expensive to maintain, and he felt fortunate the estate could afford the upkeep. He climbed the steps to where a butler waited.

“Lord Derebourne, welcome.”

Chase caught himself before he looked behind him. He supposed in time he would get used to being addressed as Derebourne. “Thank you.”

“I am Smithfield, my lord, and this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Smithfield.” He indicated the woman standing next to him. “I imagine you would like to be shown to your rooms to freshen up. Lady Derebourne will meet you in the family parlor for tea at four, my lord.”

“Very good.” Chase pulled Harry and Bensey to his side. “The one on my left is Harry and on my right, Bensey.” He put a hand on each of their heads. “Go with Mr. Edwards and I will find you after I meet with Lady Derebourne.”

“Yes, Father,” they said in unison, following their tutor and a maid into the house.

Mrs. Smithfield led Chase and Anders to the master’s chamber.

****

“They called him Father?” Claire asked.

“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Smithfield said.

Claire had watched from the window as the marquess approached with a young boy riding by his side. When another boy alighted from the carriage, it was obvious the two were identical twins. Mrs. Fisherman had told her Derebourne had been briefly married before losing his wife. The boys were too old to be from that marriage, which meant they were his bastards.

She didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed he would publicly claim the boys. It just wasn’t done, yet she thought gentlemen who carelessly sired bastards and left them to uncertain fates to be the lowest of men. After one look at the man standing on the steps, she could imagine how women would swoon at his feet.

She wouldn’t be one of them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smithfield. Have tea and cakes brought in promptly at four. We will keep country hours unless his lordship instructs otherwise.”

Which she was sure he would promptly do. The man probably slept until noon and spent his nights carousing. Perhaps she should send a warning to the village fathers to hide their daughters.

Claire sighed. She was feeling nasty and possibly not being fair to the man, but she had seen the proof of his perfidy standing on the steps next to him. If he were a careless reprobate, would that not serve her purpose?

Surely, all he cared about were the monies she would pay, enabling him to continue his dissolute ways. Yes, he had only just arrived and she had him figured out.

Claire had no doubt things would go her way.

****

Chase entered the family parlor at precisely four. He stopped on the threshold and studied the woman standing at the window. She was as pale and fragile as he had imagined. Seeming to sense his presence, she turned. He had visited Greece on his Grand Tour—had stood on sand as white as sugar and marveled at the shimmering blue of that ancient city’s sea. The color of her eyes took him back to that moment in time.

She curtseyed. “My lord.”

Her gaze raked over him, her expression clearly meant to let him know she found him lacking. The skin on his neck bristled. Who was she to judge him?

“Lady Derebourne.” He bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Is it?”

Startled, he quirked a brow. “Of course, why would you think otherwise?”

“I might think otherwise because you find me a burden. I might think otherwise because you don’t know quite what to do with me.”

He’d always been at ease around women, but this one confused him. He didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, but apparently, without understanding how, he had.

“Lady Derebourne, please forgive me. It’s not my desire to upset you. You are correct, however. This was your home, yet no longer. So, you tell me, what am I to do about you? I do have some thoughts on the matter, but welcome your opinion. I’m all ears, my lady.”

She stared at him with those deep blue eyes and he waited, surprisingly curious to hear her response. She gestured at the tea tray. “You are correct, my lord. This is my home no longer. Shall we sit and have tea and some honest discussion?”

“As you wish.” She chose the sofa and he settled in a chair facing her.

“How do you like your tea, my lord?”

“Only a small amount of milk and sugar, please.” Chase watched her perform the ritual, his gaze resting on her slim, elegant fingers as she stirred in the milk. He followed the line of her arm up to her pale, delicate face.

The lady wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

Her black widow’s weeds were not flattering and drained the color from her face, but he’d once been a connoisseur of women and saw her potential. With the right color of gown and artfully styled hair, she would be quite striking. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. It shouldn’t be difficult after all to find her a husband, especially with the dowry he planned to offer.

He glanced at her neck searching for any loose hair that would tell him its color, but no strands escaped the ugly lace cap. She caught him studying her and raised a questioning brow. Embarrassed, he shifted his gaze away, noticing the painting above the fireplace.

His breath caught in his throat. The portrait was of her, and the man standing behind her must be Derebourne. She was exquisite—a fragile, pale beauty that made a man want to cherish and protect her.

The rose-colored gown she wore brought color to her cheeks and lips. Her hair was the color of moonlight and her eyes—her best feature—looked back at him in amusement. In his rogue days, she would have been a woman he would have been determined to possess. The man standing behind her had to be at least thirty years older.

“Was that Derebourne?” he asked.

“Yes.”

There was no affection in her voice, and he found himself curious about their marriage. Ill at ease, he sipped tea and waited for her to set the tone of their conversation.

“I know this must be awkward for you, my lord. What does one do with an unwanted guest? I have the right to the dower house, but I don’t want to live there, and I doubt you much like the idea. So, do you give me time to make other living arrangements or do you show me to the door? Perhaps you think I might be desperate enough that I would agree to be your mistress. If it is the last, I assure you I am not. Desperate or agreeable, that is.”

Chase couldn’t find the words to respond. She had a sharp tongue and obviously blamed him for her circumstances. If she treated all men as she did him, it might not be as easy to find her a husband as he had thought. She had gone beyond the pale in insinuating he would be crass enough to take advantage of a grieving woman.

“Well, have you nothing to say, my lord?”

“Oh, I have much to say, Lady Derebourne,” he said, finding his voice. “You don’t know me, yet you feel free to malign my character. It is my understanding you have no family to turn to. I have no intention of showing you to the door without knowing you are safely settled elsewhere.”

His anger was so great he carefully set his cup down lest he spill the contents. “As for considering you for my mistress, it never entered my mind, nor will it. You are not my type of woman, Lady Derebourne. Your tongue is too bitter for my taste. Have I said enough, my lady? Yes, I believe I have.”

He stood. “I wish to spend some time with my boys and think it best if we continue this conversation tomorrow. Perhaps by then you will be in a better frame of mind.”

“As you wish, my lord. We keep country hours. Dinner is served at six.”

“Please have a tray sent to me and my sons. I find I prefer their company tonight.” He walked out of the room and asked the butler to direct him to the twins’ rooms.

Claire fell back onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Bells in hell. She had handled that badly. From the moment the marquess entered the room her resentment had simmered. It wasn’t his fault she was going to lose her home and most likely her horses. It hadn’t helped that she had to force herself not to stare at him, and that had unnerved her. She had never met a man before that she would apply the word beautiful to. His hair was golden, his skin also golden as if he spent much time outdoors, and his eyes were the violet-blue of woodland bluebells.

What had possessed her to suggest he might want her as his mistress? A man like him would never want someone as inexperienced as her. She had never learned to control what came out of her mouth when she was angry, but this time, she had gone too far.

There was nothing for it. She would have to apologize. At least, he didn’t plan to immediately evict her. Had he meant it when he said he would see her safely settled somewhere? If she could work out an agreement with him allowing her to keep her horses, she could support herself and make a life that held some meaning.

Claire had no intention of marrying again. She had been seven and ten when Thomas saw her walking down a lane in her village. Before she understood what was happening, she was married and carried off to Hillcrest. More of a child than a woman, she found herself living in a home she still sometimes got lost in, married to a man who could have been her grandfather and with nothing to do.

The servants, long used to answering to Thomas, virtually ignored her. What they ate, when they ate, the activities of the household—all operated to the preferences of her husband. She only saw Thomas at dinner or when he visited her bed in the dark.

One day, feeling miserable and sorry for herself, she wandered into the stables. The stable master and several grooms were gathered around a stall and she peered in to see what had caught their interest. They didn’t notice her, and she watched a mare deliver her colt.

The miracle of the birth and the moment the baby horse stood on wobbly legs touched something deep inside her. From then on, at every opportunity, she went to the stables. In the beginning, the men were uncomfortable with her presence in their territory. She made sure not to get in their way, just listened and learned.

When Thomas discovered where she spent her days, he had ordered her to stay away. She’d pleaded, begged, bargained and outright refused to obey. It was the only time in their marriage he had struck her. The force of his hand across her face had knocked her backwards.

She had gathered herself and faced him. “Hit me a thousand times, sir, it will not change my mind on this.”

His hand fisted as if he wished to do just that but then he’d stalked out of the room. No more was ever said on the subject. Eventually, she had taken over management of the horses and made a name for Hillcrest Stables.

There came a time when Thomas realized what she had accomplished, but he never acknowledged her efforts, instead taking the credit. She didn’t care. Let him have the glory, she knew in her heart the truth.

She would not allow the marquess to take away everything she had worked for. She had lost her son, endured a loveless marriage and was going to lose her home. As far as she was concerned, she had sacrificed more than any one person should.

The sound of male voices floated into the room, drawing Claire to the window. Derebourne walked toward the stables, a son on each side holding his hand. Her gaze slid over the man’s back noting the difference in his long muscular legs, taut buttocks and broad shoulders from those of her husband’s. Her mouth turned down into a frown, an attempt to quell the pace her heart insisted on setting at the sight of him.

She turned away and went to find Mrs. Smithfield to inform her of the change in dinner plans. Then she had better go see what Lord Derebourne was up to.

Chapter Three

“Why did the farmer get sent to the gaol?” Bensey asked.

Chase, having heard the riddle before and knowing the answer, allowed his mind to drift to Lady Derebourne. His instincts said there was more to the woman than what he had expected. She had eyes a man could get lost in. She also had a temper and a biting tongue. Not at all the biddable mouse he had imagined. It would be best if he avoided her as much as possible until her mourning ended and he could proceed with his plan.

“I give up,” Harry said.

“He was caught beating an egg.”

Harry roared with laughter, and Chase grinned upon seeing Bensey’s wide smile at besting his brother. It didn’t happen often.

As they approached the stables, Chase studied the huge structure and was duly impressed. The building covered an acre of ground and was freshly painted white with forest green trim. High across the front, the letters Hillcrest Stables were painted in the same green color, and then outlined in gold. The wide, double doors were open and he let an eager Harry pull him inside.

The floors were wood planks—scrubbed clean. The stalls on each side of the long aisle were generous in size and each had a wood plaque on the gate indicating the horse’s name. He inhaled, smelling hay, horse and leather. Several horses stuck their heads out and eyed the newcomers. From what he could see, they were prime horseflesh. Derebourne had certainly known his business.