The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 2

  “Nicholas,” the Duchess said, dabbing her napkin at the corner of her lips, “would you come along with me today? We could visit the Earl of Leicester and his family on our way home! You haven’t seen Lady Annette since she was ten years old, and I’m quite certain you’d be impressed by what a lovely young lady she’s become.”

  The Duchess was always trying to force these meetings on Nicholas, to ensure that he would make a respectable marriage to a well-born young lady. He wasn’t opposed to this outcome in principle, but so far, he had shown no interest in the young women his mother had thrust across his path. He remembered the Earl’s daughter as a shy child who had spoken so softly that he could never understand what she had said.

  Some of the young ladies she has introduced me to are pretty enough, to be sure, but none had been at all interested in art or world affairs, and I could scarcely imagine making conversation with them for an afternoon, let alone for a lifetime.

  “Ah, I’m quite sorry, Mother, but I can’t join you today. I’ve told Isobel that I’ll go out riding with her.” He flashed a glance at his sister. “She’s been pining for me so, while I’ve been in London. Now that the prodigal son has returned home, I can hardly deprive her of my company for another day!”

  The Duchess smiled in spite of herself—Nicholas could see that she knew he was frustrated by her attempts to find him a suitable wife, and that he was making excuses now, but she was taken in by his charm, as always. She had never been able to discipline him as a boy, and he supposed there was no reason it should be different now that he was a man. Still, he knew he could not put off the prospect of marriage forever, and he would have to find a wife soon or be forced to marry someone of his mother’s choosing.

  Isobel smiled conspiratorially at her brother. “Oh Nick, I’m so glad you remembered our plans after all!”

  Nicholas returned the smile, silently thanking her for going along with his scheme. The family was finishing their breakfast with discussing the details of Isobel’s upcoming debut, and the new furnishings they would need to purchase for that event. When they had finished eating, and the servants had cleared away the dishes, each family member stood. The Duke returned to his study, while the Duchess called for her maid to bring her coat and hat, and the coachman to bring the carriage. Nicholas and Isobel went through to the parlor to discuss the day’s plans.

  “I suppose we’ll have to go out riding now that you’ve told Mother I begged you,” Isobel slipped her big brother an impish grin.

  “I am sorry, Izzy, but I really can’t stand to be paraded in front of some Earl’s daughter today. I know that Mother means well, but it really is exhausting. You don’t mind riding with me today, do you?”

  “Of course not! Riding, and spending time with my dearest brother, what on earth could be better?”

  * * *

  An hour later, dressed in riding gear and woolen coats, both brother and sister entered the stable. Nicholas saddled a dappled gray gelding named Pepper for Isobel, and a chestnut stallion named Jack for himself. Each led their horses out of the stable and mounted in the yard, before setting out toward the small town at a trot. As they rode, they spoke of their mother.

  “She talks of nothing but you when you aren’t at home,” Isobel revealed, “you, and the respectable, well-born young woman you must marry. She’s getting quite desperate. And quite dull, if you must know the truth.”

  “Surely she worries about your matrimonial prospects, as well?”

  “I’m certain that she does, but we both know that I’ll marry someone boring and suitable in the next few years. If mother worries about my future wedded bliss, it’s simply a matter of finding the right gentleman and making an introduction. How many ladies has she suggested you might like to meet now? And how many of them have you rejected? She despairs of finding anyone who could meet your exacting standards. And by the simple accident of our sexes, that means she must also despair of the future of the Dukedom. You are father’s heir. When you become the Duke, you will need an heir of your own, and so, you must take a wife.”

  Isobel said all of this matter-of-factly, without any hint that she might resent her brother’s stubbornness or regret her own obedience.

  “I know, Izzy, I know!” the Marquess failed to contain his laughter. “I’m very much aware of my duty to the family legacy, and I’m certain I shall take a wife soon, and alleviate all of Mother’s worries. Or, at least, I shall try to alleviate some of her worries. I just need a bit more time before I’m prepared to meet her next candidate.”

  “Well, if you won’t consent to meet Lady Annette and the Earl of Leicester, you must be prepared to be introduced to scores of noble daughters over the coming weeks. Mother will find a way to ensure that their paths cross yours. Many of them will be at my debut, and Mother will expect you to dance with each and every one of them in turn.” Isobel paused here, and then seemed to steel herself. “And Nick, please do as she expects and dance with them. This is an important event for me, and it may determine much about my future prospects. I don’t want Mother to spend most of the night making a fuss over your refusal to dance with some Duke’s daughter or other.”

  Nicholas had the decency to look slightly ashamed at this and promised his sister that he would be the perfect gentleman at her debut and be pleasant and sociable with all of the noble young ladies in attendance. They continued to ride in silence for some time, before Isobel spoke again.

  “Nick?” she tilted her head toward his, attempting to make eye contact. “Is there anyone in particular that you would like to dance with? Lady Annette, really has grown into a lovely young lady, you know.”

  Nicholas sighed ignoring this line of questioning and allowing his thoughts to wander. Was there anyone he might like to dance with? He searched his memory but could think of no one.

  He had danced with many young women through the years; some his mother would have approved of and some she most certainly would not. Some he had liked well enough to call on them once or twice, but most of them, not even that much. He knew that eventually he would need to marry one of these young ladies and start his own family. Still, he could not help but hope that he might meet someone who would hold his interest for more than a few conversations.

  A young lady whose beauty will captivate my eye, but whose personality will hold my attention long past the initial meeting.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Isobel asked if they could stop in town to post a letter she had written to a friend, and so it was that moments later, they stopped and dismounted in front of the post office. Without thinking, Nicholas handed the reins to a boy of about twelve standing in front of the building.

  When the boy looked at him, confused, Nicholas scoffed and said, “I’ll only be a moment.”

  The boy continued to look unsure of what to do, and Nicholas took back the reins and tied them to the fence post next to Isobel’s gelding. He was quite surprised to see that she had tied up her own horse without asking for help, but she did it quite naturally, as though she tied up horses every day.

  Nicholas could hardly imagine that the Duchess would approve of such behavior from a refined young lady, the daughter of a Duke, no less! He visualized the look that would cross her face if she saw her daughter doing the work of a stable hand: a widening of the eyes in shock, then a pursing of the lips in disapproval, and finally a false, tinkling laugh, as if to say “Oh, isn’t it charming how she pretends to be common?”

  While Isobel went inside to post her letter, Nicholas returned to his previous train of thought about the type of woman he might like to marry someday. I suppose that I might like to marry the kind of woman who would tie up her own horse and perhaps saddle it, too. The idea of a young lady who was willing to break tradition was strangely appealing.

  He imagined a beautiful woman, tall and slender, with creamy white skin and rosy cheeks, saddling a horse, unafraid to soil her clothes or her hands, and he smiled at the mere thought of her.

  Mig
ht Lady Annette be this type of woman? Or perhaps one of her contemporaries? I suppose I shall have to keep an open mind when meeting the young ladies Mother is sure to present to me in the coming weeks.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning dawned, cold and bright, and Cecilia woke from a dream she could not quite remember. She thought that her mother had been there, brushing her hair, but try as she might, she was not able to recall the words her mother had spoken to her.

  She felt sure that they were words of encouragement, but about what? Had her mother answered the questions that Cecilia asked in her letter the night before?

  I shall simply have to accept the fact that I will never know the answers to those questions.

  Cecilia removed the bedclothes and stood up. She poured some water into the basin to wash her face, plaited her long hair, and went to dress. At her wardrobe, Cecilia paused. How should she dress for the Duchess’ visit? She would not be in the workshop, so she was unlikely to see the Duchess for more than a moment or two, but she supposed it was important to appear a proper young lady—the well-mannered daughter of a successful merchant. It was quite obvious that she could not wear any of her usual dresses—faded and stained with varnish and furniture glue. Nor could she wear her one formal gown to work in her own kitchen during the daytime.

  In the end, she chose an old dress of her mother’s. It was a bit old fashioned, but it was simple and clean, made of pale-yellow cotton, with a subtle floral print. It was just the sort of thing that a young woman would wear to work in her father’s kitchen while he carved and polished wood in his workshop.

  At breakfast, her father and Mrs. Williams complimented her on her appearance, and Cecilia felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She felt uncomfortable with her current appearance, and more so because they praised her for it, though she was unsure of why this should bother her. Cecilia was quite relieved when Archie arrived only a short time later and greeted her without comment on her appearance.

  “I promise, I shall finish your table to the highest standard, just as I know you would,” Archie said to Cecilia as he followed her father into the workshop at the back of the house.

  Cecilia knew he said these words, not to tease her, but to reassure her. All of Archie’s work was completed to the highest standard, just as hers was. They had both been trained by her father to be precise in their work. Still, she could not help but feel a sting at his pronouncement. She had designed that table, measured each piece exactly, and joined them with care, but now she would not be present to see those pieces transformed into beautiful pieces of furniture.

  I shall start work on the matching chairs tomorrow, and I have no doubt that I shall build many more tables in my lifetime, but I cannot help but feel cheated out of finishing this one.

  “Come now, Miss,” said Mrs. Williams. “I should be very thankful for your help in the kitchen.”

  Cecilia was soon set to stoking the fire, and fetching flour from the pantry for the bread she and Mrs. Williams would be making. As she kneaded the dough, she reflected that perhaps there was a sort of magic in this as well. Perhaps Mrs. Williams experienced the same joy at turning simple flour into delicious bread, that Cecilia felt when she created a chair out of ordinary pieces of wood. Mrs. Williams seemed to have perhaps a more practical understanding of the matter.

  “It’s no use fussing with a tried-and-true recipe. Flour, salt, yeast, and water. A simple loaf of bread will fill your belly and keep you alive long enough to bake the next loaf, just as well as a fancy one.”

  “At the bakery in town, I’ve sometimes seen loaves of bread with herbs or dried fruit baked in them,” Cecilia said, wondering what Mrs. Williams would make of such things.

  “Oh yes,” she replied, “I’ve seen them too, and tasted a few of them in my day. I suppose they’re all right, if you like that sort of thing, but truthfully it seems a bit frivolous to waste fruit or herbs on bread that would be perfectly fine without them. Bread is not art, bread is bread.”

  She proclaimed the last sentence with such force, that it was clear she felt that this settled the matter. Cecilia returned to kneading in silence, all the while looking out of the kitchen window to the small country lane that passed in front of the house.

  When the dough was kneaded and placed on the counter to rise, she saw a carriage approaching through the window. It stopped in front of the modest home, and an elegant woman stepped down when the coachman opened the door for her. She wore a simple dress of deep-purple satin, with cream colored lace at the hem, covered by a light woolen cloak of dark gray.

  Cecilia felt sure that this must be the Duchess of Huxley. No one who looked or dressed like this could be a resident of the town. She had learned from Archie that the Duchess’ name was Matilda Lymington, and she had a reputation for being stern and unforgiving.

  As the Duchess approached the front door, Cecilia felt a flutter of nerves, but steeled herself and went to greet the family’s guest.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, with a slight curtsey.

  The Duchess looked her up and down appraisingly, and then announced, “I’m here to see Mr. Baxter, please show me to him.”

  “Right this way, Your Grace, my father is in his workshop.”

  Cecilia led the Duchess through the main living space, to the entrance of the workshop, and entered quietly. She did not speak immediately in case her father or Archie were working with any dangerous tools, but the Duchess cleared her throat loudly, and both men looked up immediately.

  “Father, Her Grace, the Duchess of Huxley is here to see you,” Cecilia said nervously.

  “Welcome, Your Grace, it is an honor to have you here in my shop” Her father said in a somewhat unnatural voice, “My name is Emmanuel Baxter, and this is my employee, Archie Mowbray. We would be pleased to help you with anything that you might need.”

  “Hmm…” said the Duchess, as she walked into the shop, inspecting each piece of furniture closely as she passed it.

  Cecilia would have liked to remain there, to see what the Duchess thought of the various pieces, and whether she placed the large order her father was so hoping to receive, but she knew that she must return to the kitchen. She would help Mrs. Williams with her work and be there to offer the Duchess refreshment, should she require any after her tour of the shop.

  Cecilia felt that many hours must have passed between that introduction and the Duchess’ exit from the workshop, but the position of the sun in the sky suggested that it had been hardly any time at all. Mrs. Williams was only now pulling the bread from the hearth, which she supposed must mean that it had been no more than an hour.

  “You shall come to the estate tomorrow by eleven o’clock in the morning, to take measurements for the pieces we discussed,” the Duchess announced, as she left the workshop.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Mr. Baxter, bowing low, “thank you very much, I look forward to it!”

  The Duchess left the house without another word and climbed into her waiting carriage with the help of the coachman.

  “So, I gather we shall be fulfilling a large order for the Duchess and her family?” Cecilia was trying to keep her hopes high.

  “Yes, my dear! We’ll be refurnishing several rooms at the estate. Tomorrow, I’ll take measurements and finalize the details of the designs, and then we’ll need to begin work right away, as they shall need everything ready in just a few months.”

  “Papa?” Cecilia asked, “Could I join you on your visit to the Duchess’ estate tomorrow?”

  “May I ask why you would want to be present for this visit? It doesn’t seem like your usual sort of pastime, Cece.”

  Cecilia was surprised to find how much she wanted to go with her father on this outing. She didn’t much care for grandeur as a rule, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious to see how an aristocrat lived. In addition, if she was going to be building the furniture for the family’s estate, it might be helpful to see the grand rooms in which that furniture
would ultimately reside. Not wanting her father to think her frivolous, she decided to focus her argument on the latter half of this line of thought.

  “Well, I suppose I should like to see the estate, so that I can understand how best to build pieces that will be in harmony with the Duchess’ taste” she said, reasonably, “and perhaps it would be helpful for you to have an assistant there to record measurements.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Of course, you always are, my dear,” her father said, looking at her affectionately.

  Just then, Archie entered the room, and hearing this last statement he feigned offense, “Mr. Baxter, you wound me! I thought you said that I was always right, and now I find that you tell your daughter the same thing. It has yet to happen, but what will you do if the day should come when Cecilia and I disagree about something of import? In such a case, how will we possibly know which of us is correct?”

  Her father laughed at that, “Archie, my boy, if the day comes when you and Cecilia disagree, then I shall know that you are wrong for the very first time.”