Thea's Marquis (5 page)

“You have recovered quickly,” she said, unpacking a shawl and draping it about Meg’s shoulders.

“Yes, stopping every few miles for a walk made all the difference. I’m only sorry it did not help Penny. I do think Jason might have made more effort to furnish her house before we arrived!”

“He took great pains to make her dressing-room and bedchamber pleasant. I cannot believe he does not love her.”

“Of course he loves her. Why should he marry her, else?”

Though Thea did not disillusion her romantic sister, she could not help recalling that Jason had been equally ready to marry Henrietta or Alison. At best that indicated a shocking fickleness in his affections.

They went down together, joining their mother and brother in the morning-room, since drawing-room and dining-room were both unfurnished. An aged, tottery butler appeared to serve dinner. Thea held her breath as he carried in the plain white china dishes one by one, in imminent danger of dropping each. Jason dismissed him as soon as everything was on the table.

“I interviewed him one morning, and he is comparatively sprightly before noon,” he explained with a wry smile.

The meal was as simple as the country fare the Kilmores were used to at Newkirk, but half the food was burnt and the rest underdone.

Jason hacked at a charred piecrust as tough as shoe leather. “My apologies,” he said. “Mama, since Penny is out of sorts, I hope you will take charge of the household. Dismiss what servants you will and hire others.”

“Oh dear, I have no notion how to go about it in London,” said the dowager anxiously. “At home one has one’s own people.”

“Penny ran her father’s household,” Thea reminded her. “She will know what to do.”

“I don’t want her troubled,” Jason insisted.

“We shall have to consult her about furnishings. She will want to choose colours and patterns.”

“I can have tradesmen bring samples to the house for her to examine at leisure. Nonetheless, I wish I had had time to do more. The repairs were only completed the day before I expected you to arrive.”

“Repairs?” asked Meg. “I noticed the new floorboards in my chamber.”

“Penny’s uncle was not satisfied with removing everything of value,” said Jason grimly. “He took his revenge for the loss of her fortune with an axe. Holes in floors and walls, the stair rails smashed to pieces, broken glass everywhere.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair in remembered frustration. “For pity’s sake, don’t tell her how bad it was.”

“It sounds horrid,” Meg admitted. “But we cannot live in empty rooms for long just because Penny is not well. Suppose Mr. DeVine and Thea’s marquis come to call!”

“Thea’s marquis?” he said, startled. “You mean Hazlewood? It was obliging in him to send his boy with your note, but I thought him no more than a chance-met acquaintance. Has he been particular in his attentions, then, Thea?”

“Oh no!” she cried in confusion. “You misunderstand Meg’s silly way of referring to him. He was most agreeable and all that is chivalrous, but his concern was for Meg’s and Penny’s indispositions, not for me.”

“You mean he...”

At that moment, Meg attempted to spear a potato with her fork. Hard and slippery as soap, it shot across the table, knocking over a gravy-boat and ricocheting to land in Lady Kilmore’s lap. His question forgotten, Jason jumped up to avoid the flood of watery gravy.

Meg collapsed in giggles. “It’s just as well there is no carpet,” she gasped.

“The cook must go,” pronounced her mother resolutely, dabbing at her skirts with a napkin.

Thea breathed a sigh of relief. Had Jason pressed her, she might have been forced to confess that, far from wishing to fix his interest with her, Lord Hazlewood doubtless considered her an ill-bred hoyden.

She sighed again, with regret. If only she dared hope for another chance to gain his good opinion.

Hazlewood allowed the Kilmore ladies three days to recover from their journey and settle in Town. Then, his olive-green and silver liveried tiger up behind, he drove his curricle towards Bloomsbury.

“Cor blimey, guv, where’re we going?” the boy demanded as they left Oxford Street behind them. “Di’n’t you say we was jus’ paying a morning call?”

“In Russell Square.”

“There ain’t no nobs living in Russell bloody Square ’cepting Lord Kilmore, as I took that letter to, and from what I’ve ’eard ’e ain’t zackly top-o’-the-trees. Wotcher want to get mixed up wiv ’im for?”

Passing the British Museum and turning up Montague Street, Rod asked himself the same question. His family, following Will’s lead, would undoubtedly dub the visit one of his quixotic whims. They’d not be altogether wrong.

While he doubted the Misses Kilmore would be deliberately ostracized, despite the baron’s misdeeds and their unfashionable address, they might find it difficult to enter the highest circles. Kilmore was at best a care-for-nobody, and the dowager, by what he had seen of her, was of a retiring disposition. Neither was likely to make a push to obtain invitations. His brief encounter with the new Lady Kilmore suggested that she was not the sort of vulgar upstart who attempted to thrust her way into Society. If she did, she’d only succeed in setting up people’s backs.

The young ladies did not deserve to suffer through no fault of their own. To that extent he admitted to chivalrous motives; yet there was more.

Miss Kilmore’s unconventional behaviour did not merely entertain him, it intrigued him. He admired the way she overcame her natural timidity when her family’s well-being was at stake. Brought up in the remote wilds of the country, she was as naive as her sister, but with a hint of unworldliness quite unlike Miss Megan’s frank enjoyment of Will’s flirting.

What went on behind that quiet, thoughtful face? She interested him more than any woman he had met in his years on the Town: the hopeful debutantes with ambitious mamas; widows amorous or impecunious who set their caps at him; high-flying Cyprians in search of a wealthy protector.

Finding something lacking in one and all. Rod had courteously avoided every snare. Perhaps, if he succeeded in penetrating her reserve, he would find that Miss Kilmore, too, had nothing to offer him. But he suspected—he hoped—that she was different.

“’Ere we are, guv.”

Lord Hazlewood reined in his greys in front of a large house on the west side of Russell Square, one of a fine modern terrace. In the garden in the centre of the square, trees displayed their autumn russet and gold above flower-beds as well kept as any in Mayfair. Battling the stiff, chilly breeze, an old man was raking leaves into neat heaps.

It seemed a prosperous neighbourhood. Then Rod looked up at the stone-and-brick facade of the Kilmores’ house and was puzzled to see row upon row of windows untidily draped in cheap brown holland.

He took a calling-card from its case and passed it to his tiger. “Ask if the ladies are receiving visitors,” he instructed.

“Ho—ladies, is it?”

As Billy hopped down and dashed across the pavement to ring the doorbell, his master noticed that the boy’s wrists and ankles protruded from his livery again.

He was growing too big for his present employment. Time to give the lad a choice of becoming stable-boy and working with the horses he loved, or under-footman, wearing a new suit of the smart uniform he was so proud of. If he chose the latter, he’d have to learn to curb his impudent tongue!

A maid trimly clad in black with a white apron and cap answered the door. Billy spoke to her, then returned to the curricle to announce, “She says ’is lordship’s out but the ladies is at ’ome, if your lordship don’t mind waiting a minute or two.”

Rod stepped down and handed over the reins, with orders to walk the horses. Entering the house, he looked around with interest. The hall was of elegant proportions, with a fine staircase, but furnished with only a couple of deal chairs, on one of which the maid set his hat and gloves. The other was already encumbered by a glossy, curly-brimmed beaver, a pair of York tan gloves, and a silver-topped cane he thought he recognized.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rod’s amused surmise proved correct. When the Kilmores’ maid ushered him into a small room at the front of the house, the dapper figure standing at the window overlooking the square swung round.

“Oh, it’s you, coz,” said Will sheepishly.

“Not one of your more brilliant observations. I did say I meant to call, you may remember.”

Will dodged the reminder that he had vowed Russell Square to be beyond the pale. “I say, devilish smoky, ain’t it?” He gestured at the shabby table and chairs. “Why not show us into the drawing-room?”

“Perhaps it is not prepared for visitors, as they did not expect any,” Rod suggested, his tone dry.

Abashed, Will smoothed the sleeve of his mulberry coat. “Only proper to ask after the invalids,” he muttered. Raising his voice, he added, “Besides, they won’t have any other callers here at the back of beyond, so I felt it my duty to come and cheer them up.”

His face bid fair to match his coat as Miss Megan appeared in the doorway. Her hair cut short in a froth of curls, she was fresh and pretty in a simple but modish gown of white muslin sprigged with rosebuds, a pink silk shawl about her shoulders. With a reproachful glance at Will, and very much on her dignity, she advanced into the room to curtsy to the marquis.

“How delightful to see you again, my lord.”

“The pleasure is mine, ma’am. I trust you are quite restored to health?”

“Oh yes, I recovered quickly, thanks to your suggestion of dividing the rest of the journey in two. It was prodigious amiable in you to go to the trouble of reserving rooms for us at Biggleswade.” She favoured him with an enchanting smile. Will looked glum as she turned to him and said coolly, “Good day, Mr. DeVine.”

Her sister was hesitating on the threshold, the slender grace of her figure accentuated by a new gown of cerulean blue kerseymere. She had put off her cap, revealing the sheen of her smooth, dark hair. She seemed half poised to flee, so Rod went to meet her. At his approach, her gaze descended to his top waistcoat button. He did not suppose that she was admiring the circle of polished horn.

“Miss Kilmore, I am happy to see you safely arrived in Town.”

“Thank you for calling, sir. It is most kind when we are situated in such an unfashionable location.”

“No part of Town can be deemed unfashionable when such fair ladies dwell there.” The compliment slipped from his lips with practised facility. He cursed himself as she coloured and her gaze fell to the next button down. Commonplace courtesies were not the way to set her at ease, but he knew what would. “May I enquire after Lady Kilmore’s health?”

“My mother will be down shortly, sir.”

“I shall be glad to renew the acquaintance, but I was actually referring to your sister-in-law,” he teased gently.

“Oh, Penny, of course. How silly of me.” She risked an upward peek. His expression must have reassured her, for her dark, apprehensive eyes met his and she went on, “Poor Penny suffers dreadfully every morning. She is quite well in the afternoons, though—fortunately. I do not know how we should go on without her.”

“No?” he asked, curious.

“She has lived in London all her life. She knows where to find furniture-makers and servants and the best modistes, and how to deal with them. We have new gowns already, and abigails, and she replaced the cook Jason hired, who even managed to make eggs inedible. The new butler starts tomorrow, the housekeeper is on probation...but you cannot be interested in such petty domestic details.”

“On the contrary, ma’am.” He cast a quizzical glance about the room. “Lady Kilmore’s taste in modistes is irreproachable, but I dare to question her choice of furniture-makers.”

Like a candle in a Chinese paper lantern, her smile lit her face with a soft glow. “Is it not horrid? Penny is not to blame. Jason bought a few necessary pieces to last until she could refurnish her house.”

“It must have been badly furnished indeed if it was worse than what you have now.”

“Oh no, everything was of the best,” she assured him earnestly. “Penny’s father was very rich. You see, her uncle was excessively angry when she married Jason, because he lost control of her fortune. He stole everything in the house and then set about wrecking it. Jason has spent weeks in rendering it habitable.”

Rod frowned. “Both greedy and vengeful. Has your brother called in a magistrate?”

“No. He says it would be difficult to prove, and Penny is afraid of Mr. Vaughn. Jason does not wish to distress her in her delicate condition.”

“Understandable.” He wondered why her attention had suddenly returned to his waistcoat buttons, her cheeks now scarlet.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said in a low voice. “I vowed I would not mention that subject again. My wits have gone a-begging.”

“Fustian!” he said roundly, sternly controlling his twitching lips. “You mean Lady Kilmore’s condition, I collect? My dear Miss Kilmore, I hope you will always say to me exactly what you please, though observing discretion when others are about, to be sure. I promise never to be shocked.”

To his surprised delight, her smile glimmered again. “Never?”

With a grin, he admitted, “Perhaps it would be safer to say hardly ever.”

Megan, standing by the window with Will, called to her sister. “Thea, do you think Mama would let me go with Mr. DeVine to Kew Gardens to see the flowers?”

“I don’t know. Is it not some distance out of London?”

“Only ten miles or so. Miss Kilmore,” Will assured her.

“Not far enough to make you ill, Meg, but I expect Mama will insist that you have a chaperon.”

“Naturally my invitation includes you, ma’am, if you care to go.”

“Thea is more interested in growing fruits and vegetables than flowers,” Meg revealed, laughing.

“Vegetables!” At Will’s astonished exclamation, Thea flinched, her hard-won composure shattered.

Casting a minatory glance at his tactless cousin. Rod said with his usual calm, “I recall your knowledge of different kinds of pears, Miss Kilmore. Perhaps you would enjoy a visit to Covent Garden Market, to see the produce of the whole country and half the world.”