The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 3

  Even Archie had to laugh at this, and he agreed that he would work in the shop the next day finishing their remaining orders, while Mr. Baxter and Cecilia travel to Huxley Manor and finalize the details of their work for the Duchess’ family.

  In her bedroom that evening, Cecilia once again wondered what she should wear the next day. She opened the wardrobe her father had made for her when she was a girl and considered her options.

  I suppose, in the end, I should do better to be overdressed than underdressed. Perhaps another of mother’s old gowns would suit the occasion, though perhaps it will need some adjustments.

  In the end she chose a gown that had been her mother’s, of moss-green velvet, with grey scrollwork embroidery on the bodice. The cream-colored lace at the cuffs and hem was beginning to show its age, so Cecilia resolved to remove it. She did this by candlelight, taking extra care to ensure that her work would not be visible when completed.

  Once her work was completed, she chose a petticoat of pure white, with eyelet detailing at the hem that would peek out prettily from the bottom of her gown. This was not Cecilia’s usual style of dress, and she hoped that it would be suitable.

  The candle had nearly burned itself out by the time Cecilia was satisfied with her work, and she changed into her night clothes quickly. She climbed into bed, too exhausted to write anything more to her mother.

  Chapter 4

  Nicholas sat in his favorite leather chair by the window of the drawing room, studying a chessboard on the table beside him. He had been playing a game by letter with a school friend for several months now. The game had not progressed in the way he had hoped, and it seemed quite inevitable that he would be defeated in just a few more moves, unless he could determine a new strategy.

  He had received Lord Walter’s letter two days prior with his most recent move and had been wondering ever since how he might escape the trap that was set. After several minutes, he decided that he would come up with nothing new today and would be best served by walking away from the board and returning with a clear head the next day.

  Standing up, Nicholas stretched his long legs and ran his fingers through his wavy auburn hair. Then he moved through the drawing room and into the library, where he chose a book at random from the shelf. Walking across the burgundy oriental rug, Nicholas approached the window to read by the bright, late morning sunshine, realizing as he sat that he had picked up a volume on the subject of the French Revolution.

  He was surprised to find such materials in his family’s library, as his father was a conservative Peer in the House of Lords, and could hardly be considered sympathetic to the plight of French commoners. Perhaps he had purchased the book to understand how best to avoid such a revolution in Britain. This was not a subject Nicholas would have sought to study on his own, but having found the book, he realized that he knew very little about the subject matter, and would do well to correct that lack.

  After several minutes of reading, which held Nicholas’ interest much longer than he had expected, he heard his mother’s voice in the drawing room, along with that of a woman he did not recognize. Thinking this must be one of the eligible young ladies his mother was sure to introduce him to in the coming weeks, he crept to the doorway and cracked the door open just enough to see the women talking, as well as a man that he guessed was close to his mother’s age, who appeared to be a merchant of some kind. Nicholas realized this must be the carpenter who would be re-furnishing several rooms of the estate. He was about to step away from the door when the young woman turned around, and he saw her face.

  Nicholas felt a sharp intake of breath and hoped that it was not audible to the people in the adjoining room. He felt his heart beat faster for just a moment before settling back to its usual rhythm. His mind, on the other hand, could never return to its former state, after seeing the startling vision before him.

  She was tall and slender, although he ventured a guess that she was still several inches shorter than him. She wore a simple, but elegant gown of moss-green velvet. Her green eyes were large and lively, framed by thick, dark lashes, with a spark of curiosity that made him wonder what thoughts resided in the mind behind them. Her skin was a creamy white, free from blemishes, but adorned with a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Surrounding this perfect example of the female countenance was a mane of thick, glossy, black hair, plaited and wound into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no ornaments in her hair, nor upon her person.

  Though she needs none, and they would only pale in comparison to the beauty of her face and form. I should very much like to caress the fabric of her gown, and feel the flesh of her arm beneath it.

  Upon closer inspection, Nicholas saw that her eyes were actually hazel, but made to look green by the color of her gown. He felt that he could stare into those eyes for hours at a time, perhaps days. I wonder, if she wore a gown of periwinkle, would her eyes appear blue? I should like to find out.

  As he continued to watch the group through the crack in the library door, he observed the beautiful young woman removing a length of knotted twine from her pocket, along with a small notebook and pencil. While the Duchess told the carpenter, in detail, what each piece of furniture should look like and where it should be placed, the beautiful young woman began to take measurements of the room and write them down in her notebook. She did this with a practiced motion, counting the knots swiftly with one hand while making notes with the other.

  Who could this mysterious creature be? The carpenter’s daughter, perhaps?

  “Now, Mr. Baxter, I don’t have much time, but I must show you the dining room, and I should like to show you the study too, as we will need to discuss those pieces in detail,” the Duchess said with brisk efficiency. “And I also have need of a new bookshelf in the library, but that should require less specific direction. I assume that you are capable of making a simple bookshelf without much intervention?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, of course, that will be simple enough once we have the necessary measurements.” the carpenter replied. To Nicholas’ ears, he sounded nervous, but he supposed that most people did when speaking to a Duchess, especially one so forbidding as the Duchess of Huxley.

  He observed that while her father seemed nervous, the beautiful young woman appeared self assured. Her eyes seemed to shine at the mention of the library, and she said, confidently, “Father, why don’t you and Her Grace see the dining room and the study, while I take measurements in the library?”

  Turning to the Duchess, she said “If Your Grace would be so kind as to show me where it is?” as though the matter were already settled.

  His mother stared at her for a moment, shocked by such impertinence, and Nicholas tried to imagine what might be going through his mother’s mind. It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. Perhaps the Duchess would have made it herself if this girl had not done so first. But for a young woman, the daughter of a carpenter no less, to not only suggest it, but act as though agreement was a foregone conclusion, would be seen as arrogant and unbecoming. Nevertheless, after a moment, the Duchess agreed to this plan, and pointed the young woman to the door behind where Nicholas was standing.

  He knew that it would be improper for him to be alone in a room with this young woman, but there was no other means of egress from the library. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he moved quickly to a chair by the window and returned to the book he had been reading, then feigned surprise when this most remarkable creature entered.

  “Oh!” she said, upon entering the room and seeing him, “I’m terribly sorry, My Lord, I didn’t realize that anyone would be in here. The Duchess has asked me to take measurements for a bookcase my father will be building.”

  She stood before him, twine in one hand, notebook and pencil in the other, looking unsure of what to do next. Surely she knew as well as he that it would be improper to be alone in a room together, but he had the impression that she cared very little for propriety, and he was intrigued by this as much
as anything else.

  “That’s quite all right, Miss…?”

  “Baxter,” she said assuredly, “Cecilia Baxter. My father is the carpenter who will be making new furnishings for several of the rooms here.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Baxter. And my apologies for surprising you. My name is Nicholas Lymington, Marquess of Clive. My mother is the Duchess who will be terrorizing your father for the next few months.”

  Miss Baxter laughed at this, and Nicholas thought it a delightful sound. He was amazed to meet a young woman who seemed to be neither in awe nor in terror of his mother.

  “Please don’t let me take you away from your work, Miss Baxter.”

  “Thank you, My Lord” she said, and set to work measuring the empty wall to the left of the doorframe and making note of the width, height, and depth from the wall to the nearest window casement. Then she moved to the opposite wall and measured the existing bookcases.

  Nicholas pretended to read his book but watched her over the top of the pages as she moved about the room. She did this with a brisk efficiency, that was nevertheless graceful. After taking down the necessary measurements, he saw that she began to sketch the existing bookcase, presumably to ensure that the new one would match.

  After several minutes, she looked at her drawing with a slight frown and sighed.

  “Is everything quite all right, Miss Baxter?”

  “Oh, it will be quite all right, I’m sure,” she said, but continued to frown at the notebook in her hand.

  “Come now, you must tell me what is vexing you, or I shall fear that I have offended you, and we’ve only just met!” he said in his most charming voice.

  Miss Baxter looked up at him, seeming momentarily confused, but then smiled and began to speak:

  “Well, My Lord,” she began. “It is important for a room to be in harmony, each piece fitting in well with the others, so that they don’t seem to be fighting one another.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I never thought of it that way, but I can see that it would be important.”

  “It is. And it’s not just a simple matter of matching colors. In fact, sometimes pieces can be very similar but out of proportion to one another in size, or the same color but different styles, or different to one another in some other way that makes them unharmonious to the eye.”

  “Ah, I think I’m beginning to understand. And is that going to be a problem here?”

  “We shall find a solution, I’m sure, but due to the placement of the doorframe and window, we won’t be able to simply match the bookcase on the opposite wall. It would be easy to make it narrower and shallower than the other, but then the proportions will not be pleasing to the eye.”

  “I suppose that is a problem,” Nicholas replied. “Would it not be solved by making the spacing between the shelves smaller, in proportion to the width and depth?”

  “Perhaps that would be more aesthetically pleasing, My Lord, but then the shelves would be too small to fit any books. We must consider functionality as well as appearance.”

  This was so obvious, that Nicholas felt embarrassed not to have considered it himself. He had never felt so inferior to a young woman in his life, but she smiled at him pleasantly, with no hint that she thought him a dunce, and just as quickly as the feeling had arisen, it receded again. She was a complete stranger to him, but she made him feel completely at his ease.

  “Will your father be able to find a solution?”

  “Yes, it’s just a matter of simple geometry. We’ll work something out, I’m quite sure, I’ll just need some time to consider the possibilities.”

  “You will consider them, Miss Baxter? Have you learned geometry?”

  “Of course,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a young woman to study high-level mathematics. “I could hardly build anything at all without understanding geometry!”

  She really was astonishing! “You build pieces with your father?” Nicholas asked.

  “I did when I was younger,” she replied. “Now I build pieces on my own, sometimes following my father’s designs, or Mr. Mowbray’s—his employee, and sometimes designing them myself.”

  At the stunned look on his face, she began to flush, but continued, “I know it’s an unusual occupation for a young woman, but my mother died when I was a young girl, and I’ve spent most of my days for the past ten years in my father’s workshop. My father has no son, though he treats his employee like one, and in a way I’ve become his son as well as his daughter.”

  “You are quite unlike anyone I have ever encountered, Miss Baxter!” Nicholas watched her look away and felt frightened that he had said the wrong thing.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued, “I mean no offense, in fact I find you fascinating. I imagine it must be an almost magical experience, turning a plain piece of wood into something that people will rely upon, like this bookcase. And to make it beautiful as well, what could be more rewarding?”

  The young woman looked at him in earnest, as though she was not sure whether he was being quite truthful with her, but after studying his face for a moment, she smiled shyly and said “Yes, it is quite magical, My Lord. I’ve never spoken to anyone about that feeling before.”

  The two young people stared at each other across the few feet of space separating them, and Nicholas felt a warmth spreading in his chest that was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He was usually charming and confident, but he could think of nothing to say in that moment and merely smiled at this beautiful, fascinating, clever being before him.

  After a moment, Miss Baxter looked away as though she felt uncomfortable. Glancing about the room, her eye landed on the book Nicholas had been pretending to read when she entered the room.

  “What are you reading, My Lord?” she asked.

  “It’s a history of the French Revolution. Rather a dull retelling, but a fascinating subject matter, about which I must confess I am woefully ignorant.”

  “Yes, it is a fascinating subject, isn’t it? I’ve only just been reading Reflections on the Revolution in France myself!”

  “Really? What a coincidence!” Nicholas exclaimed. With each sentence she spoke, Cecilia intrigued him more.

  A woman who is knowledgeable about geometry and international politics? How many such women can there be in Britain? I had yet to meet one, until today, and this one is just as beautiful as she is clever.

  Before the two could exchange any more information, they heard the Duchess and Mr. Baxter approaching the library. Quickly, and as if by mutual agreement, they turned away from one another; Nicholas returned to his chair and continued pretending to read. Miss Baxter coiled up her knotted length of twine and returned it to her pocket, then she continued to sketch the existing bookcase.

  When each of their parents entered the room, the Marquess and Miss Baxter looked up at them, but gave no indication that they had spoken to one another. Nothing untoward had happened during their meeting, and the door had stood fully open the entire time. The carpenter looked at his daughter with a surprised expression on his face, but she merely told him that she had the necessary measurements and sketches.

  “Nicholas,” said his mother, sternly, “I had no idea you were in the library, or else I should not have sent Miss Baxter in here to take measurements and disturb you.”

  “She was no bother at all, I’ve just been reading while she did her work,” he replied casually.

  The Duchess nodded, indicating that she accepted this version of events, and led Mr. Baxter and his daughter out of the room. Nicholas remained in his chair, replaying the preceding quarter of an hour in his mind, and wondering when he might see Miss Baxter again.

  Chapter 5

  Cecilia rode home alongside her father, hardly listening as he told her the details of the large order they would be fulfilling.

  Her meeting with the Marquess of Clive had been a surprise in more ways than one. She had never spoken to a member of the aristocr
acy for so long nor so informally. He had been polite and inquisitive, showing an interest in her work, and seemed genuinely pleased to find that they had a mutual interest in the subject of the French Revolution.

  And, of course, she could hardly deny that he was quite handsome. It was unusual for Cecilia to meet someone several inches taller than herself, and he had none of the awkwardness I’ve often observed in long-legged men. His smile was slightly crooked, the only imperfection in an otherwise perfect face, but Cecilia had found it charming. She felt that it had radiated genuine happiness when they spoke. She imagined running her fingers through his auburn hair, or staring into his warm brown eyes, the color of the earth in spring, when the flowers begin to bloom.

  Have I become an utter fool, besotted with a man so far beyond my reach?

  “...won’t we, my dear?” Her father asked. He had obviously been talking for some time now, and Cecilia had failed to hear the beginning of his question, having been lost in her own meandering thoughts. She felt a flush of embarrassment, but pushed the feeling away.